Roads Not Wandered
by oleanderedits
Summary: When Alexandria offers to deal with Hilltop's Savior problem, Jesus' only request is that they don't kill his boyfriend in the raid. (AU where Daryl and Merle never headed to Atlanta and instead went to DC hoping for safety, but finding the Saviors instead)
1. The Northward Road

_"Your boyfriend's one of them?" Maggie asked incredulously as the group went over the plans Andy had drawn up for what he knew of the building. Andy stood tight-lipped to one side while Jesus stood with his arms crossed, eyes down shamefully._

 _"Not every one of them does it because they like it," he said, taking a deep breath and trying to calm his nerves. This was a lot of death they were planning and while he was okay with it enough to go along with it, it didn't mean he liked it. Nor did he want the man he loved to be among the casualties. "He stays because he's just as scared of what will happen to him, and to me, if he tries to leave as the people of Hilltop are if they don't give them what they want. I can't condemn him for doing what he has to just to stay alive."_

 **...**

"Nah-uh brother, get in the car," Merle called out from the window of the hummer he'd hijacked, yelling over the _whump whump whump_ of the helicoper's blades that were getting ever faster. "Ain't enough room for the both of us!"

Daryl stood on the launchpad halfway between the copter and the hummer, hesitating to do what Merle was telling him. Their escape from the overrun refugee camp was right there. No more having to fight the dead. Just safety in the air and eventually Atlanta.

"They got plenty of room if you'd get your ass over here!" he shouted back, voice getting more panicked with every word. "Get your dumb ass outta there and c'mon."

Merle shook his head, casting a glare that seemed to get meaner every second, and pounded his hand on the roof of the vehicle, "No room, Daryl! Not for me! Get away from there and let 'em go! We can do this on our own. Just like we been doin' since the start!"

The stubbornness of his brother and the need to not lose him - the only family he had left - was the only thing holding Daryl back from climbing inside the copter and getting his ass out of there. He wanted to. He wanted to feel safe again and the copter was the last, final, evac out of the football stadium. But he couldn't leave Merle.

"Are you high or some shit?" he screamed, angry himself at how stupid his brother was being. At the chance he was wasting on them. "Stop foolin' around!"

"You're the one foolin' Daryl," Merle yelled back and slid himself back into the hummer. The engine was already running, so all he had to do was rev it to cause another jolt of panic in his brother. It was enough to get him to move three quick steps away from the copter before he stalled again and started yelling. But Merle ignored his words and jerked the vehicle forward. Daryl couldn't help the next yard he ate up as his brother seemed set to leave him again. That little bit was all he needed to give up and rush the last few feet. Jump up so he could slide through the window into the passenger seat.

"There we go," Merle coo'd, triumphant enough that any anger he'd had was melted away in the face of his win. "Just the two of us. Dixon Brothers facing the world. Like it should be."

Daryl turned and punched the asshole in the arm as the copter finally took off now that the pad was clear. "What the fuck is wrong with you! That was our ticket outta this hell hole!"

Merle's glare returned and he shoved Daryl back just as hard as he'd gotten, then put his foot on the gas and started to drive them out of there, "You call yourself observant. You were so busy shitting your pants you didn't even notice one a them was bit. Ain't no way that thing's making it to Atlanta. Or if it does, it's bringing nothin' good with it."

The declaration was enough to shut Daryl up, his gaze moving back out of the hummer and toward the helicopter now fading from view. It's noise likely drawing the biters outside the stadium along with it. Not much of a reprieve, but probably enough for them to get outside and onto the roads. He stayed quiet while Merle moved the vehicle to just outside the doors it'd been brought in through. They were wide open, but for now what dead had been attacking them weren't around.

"Can't bring a lot with us," Merle started, shutting the engine down before he turned around to check what was in the back seat and how much room they had. "Let's grab what we can from the tents closest to us and the medical tent 'fore we mosey on out of here."

"And where we goin'," Daryl bit out, curled up in his seat like a petulant child. His knees drawn up to his chest, body slumping so putting his feet on the dash was more comfortable than sitting up straight. One arm hung loosely over his knees while the other was folded so he could chew at the nail of a thumb. His eyes were on the door and the path to 'freedom'.

Merle slapped him hard on the arm, "Stop mopin' and get movin'."

"Where we goin', Merle," Daryl repeated, voice harder and harsher. He'd uncurled some with the hit, but he hadn't made any further move to get to work.

His brother rolled his eyes and let out a sigh and threw out, "I don't know. Washington. You want a safe camp, right? The government's gonna protect their own. D.C.'s probably the safest place right now."

Daryl was silent for a long time, staring at Merle, before he dropped his eyes and his shoulders relaxed in that way that said he'd given up on fighting with the asshole. He always did come around to doing whatever Merle wanted. Sometimes it just took a little longer than others.

"Okay," he said softly, hand going to the door, "We're gonna have to get a different car. The gas on this is shit."

"We'll grab my bike and your truck from the lot," was the easy answer. Merle always had one of those. "Load it up with as many extra cans of gas as we can siphon. Should be enough to get us where we're going."

 **...**

So much for Washington.

It'd ended up taking them weeks to get there with how clogged the highways were with cars. Had to abandon the truck after the third week cause the gas was being eaten up too much trying to find workarounds with the smaller roads and state freeways. Had to downsize to just a small backpack each with a couple changes of clothes and other small things that were valuable to them. Took Merle's bike the rest of the way and managed to get into the outskirts of the city within a week of losing the truck.

Any hope Daryl had of finding safety there nosedived when the found no signs of a cordoned off safe zone. Just a city full of dead they had to run from. Back into the woods of Virginia and land they knew next to nothing about. At least in Georgia, they knew the rivers and towns enough to wander safely. But here...

Daryl cursed Merle out about heading to Washington just once. Right after they'd found an old farmhouse to hole up in on the second floor while the eaters passed by trying to find them. He'd waited until their bodies weren't making noise as they walked into the bottom story and pushed themselves around the obstacle as a group all following each other in the hopes of finding something living to tear apart. Daryl wasn't stupid enough to yell while they were around. That was Merle and Daryl wasn't going to give him the opportunity to yell back while they were in danger.

He knew part of the reason Merle was so stupid about it all was he was starting to run low on his drugs. His brother had been smart enough to ration them as best he could, but that didn't make the short, forced withdrawals any easier to deal with. And Merle wasn't acting like he was ready to give it up entirely. Just told Daryl to shut up and help him find what he needed when they did find places safe enough for two people to scavenge through.

They spent another two weeks in those woods, staying close enough to DC for them to try and slip in for drugs and canned goods and ammo or guns if they were lucky enough to find them in the houses and apartments they trashed. Two weeks of Daryl just wanting to head back south. Back home. Before winter set in because Merle sure as shit weren't doing anything to try and stockpile goods. And what efforts Daryl made his brother messed up the one time he'd gone on a bender and thought it was funny as all get out to open up, eat, and then pee on the rest before passing out in his own vomit. It was all Daryl could do to make sure he didn't drown himself.

But their luck ran out two weeks after that. They were siphoning gas from car near one of the roads they remembered being far more choked up than how they found it that day when it happened. Both thought it was weird, but they didn't really know the lay of the land and after some deliberation, figured they must have come across it further down the first time around. Daryl was doing the dirty work and Merle was on watch, standing on the side of a truck that had rolled when it went off the road.

The sound of engines reached them first. Had both of them turning their heads east in confusion. It was the first time in over a month they'd heard the sound of anyone else still living. Much less multiple souls.

"That sound like a Harley to you?" Merle asked as he raised his rifle to look through the sights. "Oh! It's two Harleys! And looks like one a them crotch rockets. Suzuki."

"Three bikes?" Daryl asked, moving to Merle's Triumph to put the gas in.

Merle dropped his gun to his shoulder and stood there smiling, "Yep. Don't look like they're carrying supplies. Must have a camp close by."

They'd been talking about trying to find other survivors lately. Merle's solution to the destruction of their own meager stockpile and the coming winter. Instead of going south, just try to find someone else to mooch off of. Neither of them thought anything of it when the group came into view and could be waved down. Merle stayed up on the truck while Daryl stood next to the bike. Merle with a smile and Daryl with a suspicious glare.

The three pulled to a stop, grinning over at them. The leader leaned forward on his handlebars, "Well if that isn't a sight for sore eyes. Friendliest greeting we've gotten in a few weeks now. What are you two up to?"

"Howdy boys!" Merle called down, rifle still resting casually on his shoulder. "Just looking for a spot to rest and recoup. You wouldn't happen to have a place the two of us could stay for a spell would you?"

The leader quirked his head to the side, "Whereabouts are you two from? Don't sound like you're from around here."

Merle shook his head, "Nah. We're up from Georgia to see the sights. Thought there'd be a lot more to see, but alls we got so far is the dead man run around."

"Georgia!" the man laughed, sitting back up. "That is a bit of ways isn't it? You two must of been on the road for while. Shoot, where's my manners. I'm Jeff and this is David and Steve. We got a place, but we don't run it. You'll have to talk to the man in charge if you wanna try and stick around. That sound okay to you?"

Both Merle and Daryl knew the tone the man was using. It was the kind people got when they thought they were talking to someone stupid. Just a little mocking, a little mean. The kind of tone people didn't always realize they were using, but came when they assumed they were addressing a couple of backwoods hicks. It was exactly what Merle hoped for most of the time back before. Meant he could con them a lot easier. Daryl played his part by largely being quiet when he wasn't being loud and rude to his brother.

Merle's lips curled further and he nodded his head, thickening his accent just a bit more, "That would be mighty kind of you folks. My name's Merle and this here's my brother, Daryl. Give us a minute to get the rest of the gas in our tank and we'd be more'n happy to follow you along."

"Daryl, huh?" Jeff asked, squinting at Daryl who continued to glare while he got back to work on the tank. "He don't look like he likes me much."

"He don't like no one much," Merle laughed, hopping down from the truck and walking over to pat his brother on the back.

He hit hard enough to make Daryl stumble and let out a loud curse before he yelled at Merle, "Son of a bitch! You want this gas all over your tank, you keep that shit up and you can ride yourself right into a fire when it lights the hell up!"

"Don't get your panties in a twist," Merle returned, obviously pleased at the reaction he'd gotten out of his brother and Daryl realized he'd done it to help cement their image of backwoods hicks in the eyes of the trio. Keep them underestimating the two of them. Merle was wanting to go for a long con. Probably the winter and then go from there.

He smiled at Daryl before turning back to the trio and taking up small talk about their bikes that they were all too happy to return while Daryl finished up the Triumph.

 **...**

It took an hour to ride back to the factory the group - called themselves the 'Saviors' - had taken up as their own. There weren't a huge number of them, but close to a hundred after two and a half months or so of the world ending, well... it was enough to be impressive. They had a full guard rotation, groups that went out to recruit and find people. To help the world rebuild as Jeff had put it. All thanks to their leader. Some asshole called 'Negan'.

Negan ended up being a man around Merle's age. In his 50's somewhere who liked to dress in skinny jeans and a leather jacket. He carried a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. Merle took to him immediately. He greeted the both of them with a friendly and genuine smile. Explained what the group was about. Took them on a tour. Told them the rules. Lots of simple things that were easy enough to follow but set both Daryl and Merle on edge. Explained the points system and how that worked.

Merle, of course, didn't like the idea of working for points. He didn't like the idea of not having some measure of power over his own self and the points system? It let everyone else walk all over him. So he right away started asking if there was a way he could get in on being an enforcer and not one of the ones pushed around. Negan's smile as he wrapped an arm over his brother's shoulder and started to lead him away was one Daryl would never forget.

It was the same smile Negan gave Daryl when he went to 'console' him and 'congratulate' him on his 'promotion' a year later. Right after beating Merle's head in with that damn bat of his.


	2. The Westward Road

_"How long have you known him?" Rick asked, one hand on his waist and the other pressing fingers hard against the table. He swayed a little, not liking this new revelation all that much. It made things difficult. Sparing a guy they didn't know based on descriptors that could fit a lot of men could mean they spare the wrong one._

 _"Since the Saviors first came to us. He was part of the group Negan brought to 'negotiate'," Jesus answered easily, though the tension never left his body. "So about a year and a half? We've been together for about half of that."_

 **...**

This was the second group in the last four months Negan had set his sights on. Second large group. Smaller ones in the shallow valley near the factory had all been put under the Savior's thumb during the height of winter when they had little recourse but to bend knee or freeze to death. The other large group had kowtowed just before the snows started and the Sanctuary had been getting weekly deliveries of half of all their supplies. Supplies which had been dwindling fast and a new group to do the dirty work of scavenging the area and growing food would be needed.

So the scouts went looking and found walls being put up around what looked to be an old manor house. Place was pretty out of place in the scenery as far as Daryl was concerned, but the walls were sturdy looking and the group seemed large enough to provide what was needed. Daryl also wasn't happy with just going in and forcing what was essentially a protection racket on the people there. But Merle was all too happy with the idea of living it easy. And bullying people into doing their work for them was a lot easier than going out and scavenging or hunting on their own. Also came with perks of having a warm bed and a full belly every day.

Merle's rifle was slung over his shoulder as it usually was when he was in a good mood. Easy to drop into position, but casual enough to make it look like he could be reasoned with. He turned to look at Daryl and elbowed his brother in the side, "What's wrong Darleena? You on your period?"

"Shut up Merle."

"Aww, you are," he crooned, slinging his arm around Daryl's shoulder. "Cheer up already. This group, they don't got guns or nothin'. Scouts said they been running around with spears. Spears! They can't do shit to us. We'll walk in, smile, tell 'em how it is, and walk back out loaded with goodies."

Daryl shrugged Merle's arm off and ducked his head, shoulders hunching. He didn't like going in armed to the teeth and he didn't like just taking whatever. He went along with it 'cause it was Merle leading him. Same as always. World going to shit didn't change nothing. Didn't mean he had to be happy about. He never was.

Merle let out an exasperated sigh and lightly slapped Daryl's arm, giving up on trying to talk his brother out of his mood, "Whatever. Just don't be an ass this time if Negan tells you to kneel. Do it and get it over with. Man's patience is going to run out if you keep that shit up much longer. Undermines his position in front of the natives."

Daryl shot Merle a glare before looking away and pretending he had to check his crossbow over again. He had a pistol, but he preferred the weight of his bow when he needed to worry at something. Much like with doing what Merle wanted, he could be a stubborn ass about kneeling to Negan, but he always ended up doing it. Just took him some time to work up to giving in. Merle didn't care about that show of obedience. He'd been in the marines. He'd learned to do what he was told when he needed to. The only one Daryl had ever capitulated to immediately had been their father. And he still got the belt, so what was the point in doing it with anyone else? Was going to get punished either way, might as well get a little satisfaction in pissing them off first.

His thoughts were drawn away when Negan shouted up at the gate guards, laughing smile making Daryl's hackles rise, "Little pig, little pig, let me in! Or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll _burn_ your walls down."

Laughter ran through the group arrayed behind him. Several men with torches stood further out, ready to do exactly as threatened. The joke wasn't really a joke. It never had been. He just hadn't paid enough attention to it all to get him and Merle out while they could.

It took a few minutes for the gates to swing up. Minutes in which Negan was getting visibly annoyed. But the shouting on the other side kept him from doing more than make a couple 'hurry it up' and 'we don't have all da~ay' comments. Those in turn caused more shouting and audible panic. How Merle could stay relaxed at Daryl's side, he didn't know. Or, well, he did, but it still baffled him. It was just the kind of asshole thing his brother would find funny. Right up until the fires were actually set and the women and children inside were in danger. But Merle didn't believe Negan was serious about burning it down. That was the real problem. He thought it was all just posturing because so far no one had fought back hard enough to need more than a beating here or there to get them to cooperate.

Once the gates were open, Negan swaggered on in, the group at his back moving with him. Most of the others had the same kind of smile Merle did as they took their first looks around. Place was big, lots of room for the FEMA trailers shoved off to one side and several rows of wood buildings holding things like an old-fashioned forge, stables, and old-timey servants cabins. The people of the community were huddled together in mis-matched clumps scattered around. A few stood near the front steps of the big house. One of them an older man in a grey suit rubbing his wrists. Next to him, not far from his elbow, a man with long hair and a beard in a loose shirt and pants, his arms crossed. To the other side a much taller man, well-muscled and with his hair pulled back, also with his arms crossed. A couple more, one of them a guard from the gate with a spear in hand, stood in a looser circle.

Negan headed right for the older man, twisting and turning as he walked to have a look at all sides while he called out, "Now who among you all would be the asshole in charge of this place? You?" He pointed Lucille at an old woman then laughed, "No, not you, darling. Maybe you." The bat swung around to a young boy no more than 10 who had arms wrapped tighter around him from someone Daryl presumed was his father.

"I'm the leader here," the old man spoke up, stepping forward and putting his hands on his hips. He was understandably flustered, but was trying to smile all the same. "Name's Gregory. Welcome to the Hilltop. What can we do for you folks today?"

Negan slowed down, leaning back with Lucille hanging limply in his hand. Looked for all the world like he was surprised. He wasn't of course. Anyone could tell by how the man had been standing and the people around him that he was the leader. But Negan liked to play games and once he 'got over' his surprise, that smile Daryl was learning meant danger spread his lips wide, "Now _that's_ more like it! A friendly greeting and a man eager to help out. Good on you."

Lucille was flipped up to his shoulder and he came to a stop about five feet from the man. He turned with the other hand up to indicate the group at large, " _We_ are the Saviors. And we're here to make sure _you_ have the protection you need from the dead. All we ask in return is half of what you got."

Gregory looked first confused, then flustered, as he turned to look back at the small group behind him before he cleared his throat and laughed lightly, "Well, I'm sorry, but if you're looking to help out, we don't really need it. As you can see, our walls-"

"Can burn _so_ easily," Negan interrupted, Lucille coming down to thump Gregory in the chest. "One stray spark and _BAM_ there goes your walls. And then the dead can waltz right on in. Very dangerous, building them out of wood. Summers up here get really dry."

"Well uh, we have plenty of water on site," Gregory protested, still trying to laugh this off, wringing one wrist before he turned his back and started to walk away, "If that's all the warnings you have, we really don't have a lot to talk about. Jesus can show you out..."

"I don't think you understand."

Gregory stopped where he was and turned to look over his shoulder. Daryl's hands tightened on his bow. This was the point Negan picked someone from the crowd and had the group beat the shit out of them. Multiple someones if their leader was stubborn. Kick them to the point they needed to be cared for for a few days to a few weeks. Black eyes, bloody lips. Sometimes a broken wrist. Nothing they couldn't walk away from, but enough to get the point across. He didn't like it at all. Usually turned his back to pretend he was watching and making sure no one else could interfere so he didn't have to see it go down.

Negan didn't break his eyes away from Gregory as he swung Lucille around to point towards a group near the FEMA trailers, "Simon, bring that one over here. We need to make sure everyone understands exactly what's going on here. Right off the bat."

And then he laughed. It was an ugly laugh. His head went back and Lucille dangled from his fingers as he stepped slowly backwards to meet up with Simon who was dragging a kid, couldn't be more than 16, by his collar to the center of the crowd that had formed. Front and center. The boys would be called forward to have some fun in a second. Daryl's eyes started tracking the people to try and figure out who might interfere and who might have to be held back at gunpoint to save them a lot of hurt.

Daryl wasn't ready for the sound of Lucille coming down on the kid's head. He flinched hard, head snapping around and mouth dropping in horror as half the boy's skull caved in. Negan looked possessed, all wide-eyed and having the time of his life as he danced backwards. Lucille dancing with him. He spun once, hooting like he'd just heard the best joke ever told before she went down again, this time knocking the body prone. If the kid hadn't been dead on the first hit, he was now.

The screams and sobs filtered into Daryl's ears, muddy and distorted while he stared. Merle's arms had fallen slack at his side, too. The smile he'd had erased by wide, blinking eyes and a clenched jaw. Some of the others were just as visibly disturbed, but not many. Most were grinning along with Negan as he finished the job with a third and final blow that cracked the skull open and destroyed the brain.

"YOU SEE _THAT_!" he crowed, looking back over at Gregory. "I just _saved_ you from one of the dead getting in here and causing trouble. I'm a motherfucking _hero_!"

A round of laughter echoed around him. Around them. Neither he nor Merle were laughing. Daryl tore his eyes away from the kid and let his gaze drift past Gregory to his group of (presumably) bodyguards. The shorter one, with the long hair and beard, he was staring right at Daryl. Eyes locking across the distance. Daryl broke away from it first, shoulders hunching as shame rose up inside him.

The 'negotiations', if they could even be called that, didn't take long after that. Negan spelled out what the Hilltop would be doing for them and the Hilltop let the Saviors walk all over them. Daryl followed Merle as Merle helped pick out the medicines they'd be taking from the medical trailer. He was quiet the whole time. Daryl couldn't remember a time he was that quiet, even when hunting he'd be a little chatter box cracking jokes and trying to fill the silence with shit no one wanted to hear. Daryl wanted to suggest they run. Pack a couple bags, take two of the bikes, and just go. But he knew it was already too late for that.

It'd probably been too late for a lot longer than he realized.

 **...**

Six months in and Merle had taken well to the life Negan allowed them. He was looking to climb the ladder and had set his sights on being where Simon was. Sitting at Negan's right hand and trusted to run one of the smaller groups that were setting up outposts. Merle wanted to be as top dog as he could. Especially now. Daryl didn't care. He wanted to be with his brother and that was the only reason he'd stuck around in the first place.

Negan must have recognized that at some point because some of the 'rewards' he offered to Merle for doing a good job with clearing out the dead he'd started making available to Daryl. If Merle wanted to pass it on. But he made sure Daryl knew about it. Stuff like permission to ask around the women for a good time. No one could go getting their dick wet without both Negan's permission and the woman's permission. A rule Negan put into place not long after they'd joined up because of two assholes that couldn't keep their hands to themselves. Of course those rules didn't apply to Negan's small harem of wives. He was the only one that could touch them and once they agreed to be his wife, they couldn't say no. Not to him.

The drugs Merle was addicted to was another 'reward'. Better food. Better housing. He could have had a room all to himself instead of sharing with Merle if he'd wanted. Merle's room was his reward and who he shared it with was his business, so Daryl holing up in there never counted against either of them. If it had, it'd have been the only reward Daryl ever accepted. He didn't even bother with the better food. Just ate the bare basics that everyone - especially those working for points - were allowed. The rest he killed himself and Negan couldn't say no to that because he didn't know about it. Roasted squirrel in the woods was difficult to track and the rest of what Daryl hunted and brought in earned him some unclaimed rewards of his own. Plenty of points if he ever wanted to spend them.

He didn't do a lot of jobs with Merle anymore. Mostly did his own scouting and the hunting and took part in the weekly trips to the Hilltop to pick up the share of goods they now provided. He'd be on that duty until the satellite outpost repairs were finished and a group could move in. Electricity and a steady supply of clean water were the big hold-ups, but that would probably be solved in another couple weeks. Regardless, it kept him out of the Sanctuary for days at a time. Something they largely preferred. But it also meant he was often alone when it might have been safer to be with someone.

Like now.

"I know you," Daryl declared when he recognized the face behind the now dropped bandana. He'd seen the man more than a few times hovering in the background while Brian oversaw the pick-ups the last two months. Always standing with his arms crossed, looking sad and bitter when he wasn't checking in on others in a quiet manner. Sometimes he'd stare at Daryl, sometimes he'd stare at others. Daryl didn't lower his crossbow, though, keeping the long-haired hippie in his sights. "You're from the Hilltop."

"And you're a Savior," the man replied as evenly as possible between heavy breaths. "Sorry for dropping in on you, literally, but I was running from the dead."

Daryl narrowed his eyes a little further before stepping back a couple steps to have a look around the side of the building the man had leapt from and nearly tackled him in his landing. He didn't see any sign of biters, but that didn't mean much if they were crowding at the back trying to get after prey that had taken to the roof.

"There are maybe seven?" the man said. He still had his hands up, but he was shaking his head. "It's a little too much for me alone, but together I'm sure we could take them out. Then we'd be able to clear the building and see what it's holding."

"You alone?" Daryl asked, hovering where he was, eyes flicking between the building and the man.

He nodded, "Yeah. I'm better on my own. Usually. Today was a bad day." He smiled at the poor joke and shrugged. "You alone?"

Daryl started for a couple moments before he finally dropped the bow and nodded, "Yeah. Just doin' a sweep to check for herds that need clearing. Buildings like this sometimes got groups inside that get out with enough sound to make 'em wanna tear the windows down."

The man let his arms fall and took a long, deep breath, "Well, if there is, we can clear them together. It'd make my job easier. The one I'm doing for you and yours."

"Seven you said?"

"Yeah. I think. I didn't get a really good look. They're hopefully at the back still trying to get up the pipe I climbed."

Daryl gestured toward the side of the building, "Go on."

The man hesitated a second and Daryl got more suspicious this was just a set up. And if it was, he was going to be the one with a weapon at the other's back, not the other way around. He raised his crossbow again and took a step to the side, "Ready when you are."

A deep breath was sucked in before the man moved, jogging for most of the length of the building. He slowed down right near the end and Daryl could hear the sound of shuffling feet and moans. There were definitely dead back there, but half a dozen? He wasn't so sure. The man darted his head out and pulled it back, then flattened himself against the wall.

"I was wrong," he said, blinking hard, "unless more joined them in the last two minutes, there were apparently ten or so behind me."

The way he gave his assessment had Daryl wondering if he was being honest. Partially because it seemed a lot more real than his apology earlier for jumping down on him the way he had, but partially because he seemed far too eager to be helpful to someone he knew ran with the Saviors. Daryl backed away from him, kept his bow leveled, and leaned his head around the side. He saw a few walkers. Not nearly ten, though. Maybe four...

His bow was wrenched upward, throwing him off and making him stumble backwards. A jab at his side doubled him over and then the man was running again. He let out a low curse and ran after him. He should have gone with his gut instinct and not fallen for the set up.

"Come back here ya prick!" he yelled, forgetting for the moment the dead would be drawn by the noise.

"Can't!" the man returned, equally as loud, just as his voice was cut off with a loud squawk of surprise. A roamer had stumbled out from behind a derelict car. The man probably could have dealt with it, but Daryl stilled long enough to fire a bolt and take it out. It earned him a genuinely shocked stare and the man holding still long enough for Daryl to get even with him and throw a punch.

"That's for tryin' ta throw my ass to the eaters!"

The man stumbled back, hand to his face, rubbing his jaw. He took a moment to get the wind back in his sails and while he did so, Daryl pulled his bolt from the roamer's head. He started pacing, attention locked on the man. They stared at each other for several long minutes. Daryl's eyes on his face and his eyes looking Daryl over from head to toe, assessing him. The silence grew palpable while Daryl let his anger stew and the other man, he could only assume, was trying to figure out how to get out of this alive.

"Duck," the man said suddenly and Daryl blinked at him before the sound of a groan caught his ear and he dropped, bringing an arm up over his head. A knife flew from the man's hand to land squarely in the walker's eye, felling it easily. Daryl hadn't even seen the guy pull it.

Anything else they had to say to each other was forced to wait. The dead were on them and while it wasn't nearly a dozen of them, it was still enough to get the adrenaline flowing and make them both breath heavily by the time it was over. Neither of them would have had problems handling it alone. Not with the car right there to get some high ground. But it went much quicker with them spinning around and covering each other's backs. The man ended up leaning against the car, after, head tilted back, as he rubbed at his eyes. Daryl stood not far away, double checking his bolts and realizing with disappointment one of them would have to be replaced.

"So uh..." the man started, smiling sheepishly once he had Daryl's attention, "Sorry about that. And thanks for the save." After a couple seconds of Daryl just staring at him, trying to process the new situation, he extended a hand, "My name's Paul, but my friends call me Jesus. Your pick."

Daryl gave the hand a disgusted look before snorting and rolling his eyes. His bow got slung over his shoulder and reached down to pull the first knife that had saved him from the eye socket it was still buried in, "I'm Daryl. You always try to pull that kind of shit?"

"Only when I don't think it'll get me killed," Paul joked blithely. "You could've pulled your gun on me. The one in the holster at your back. But you didn't."

"I should've," Daryl grunted. He wiped the knife clean with his rag and then held it out to the man. "You don't look like you got anything worth lootin'. 'less you got a truck stashed somewhere around here."

Paul shook his head, "No. I mean, I did, but I ran out of gas yesterday and haven't been able to find any to siphon. I was planning on drawing you away long enough to take your bike."

That managed to get a semblance of a laugh out of Daryl. He shook his head, "Yeah, because tellin' me that makes me want to spare you even more." But it was good natured at that point. Man had saved him from getting bit when he could have used it to his advantage to get away.

Paul chuckled along with him and dropped his eyes to the ground where he toed at the gravel for a second, then moved his gaze back to the building, "If you still want to, we can check that place and see what it has."

Daryl chewed on his thumb for a couple moments, weighing his options before he shrugged and jerked his head toward it, "Sure. Still got time. You ain't gonna be able to carry much if there is anything worth taking."

"Right. About that. Can you give me a lift and lend me some gas? I don't have my wallet on me, but I could spot you a twenty when I get home."

The request was so casual and normal that Daryl had to do a double take. He'd almost started to reply like he might of before shit went down. Paul was just grinning at him while he walked backwards. The absurdity of it earned the man another almost-laugh and Daryl having to turn his head and avert his eyes so he could fight the grin that was threatening to split his lips.

"Whatever. Prick."

"Is that a yes? Do I get to ride your bike today?"

"We'll see. You still gotta earn that."

The man kept up the easy banter the whole time, but he didn't try to pull any more shit. By the time they were done, Daryl was actually smiling openly. He didn't feel too bad about giving him a ride back to his car, neither. Day could have gone a whole hell of a lot worse.

 **...**

Daryl didn't see Paul at the Hilltop until three weeks later, during their final round up. After this, Hilltop would be expected to make deliveries directly to the outpost. Why should the Saviors waste their gas to make pick-ups when the Hilltop could waste theirs? Distribution back to Sanctuary would happen from there and the group could monitor the nearby roads and keep them clear of the dead a lot easier than sending men out to camp in semi-secured safehouses without enough rations to let them last more than a few days at a time.

He surprised himself at how good it felt to finally see that friendly face again. He'd missed it. He knew he'd been sort of looking forward to it after their entirely stupid meeting, but he didn't realize how _much_ he wanted to until he got to. He actually cracked half a smile before he managed to get his expression under control. He couldn't exactly make a big deal about it. They weren't supposed to go getting attached to anyone.

Not that Daryl was attached. But of the people he'd met since he and Merle joined the Saviors, Paul was one of the most honest. Even if he had been a little shit who tried to steal his bike. Still better than most everyone else Daryl had any kind of prolonged contact with.

Since there was always a need for a few men to wander around and make sure no one was hiding anything while the goods were loaded up, Daryl had an easy excuse to slip off from the others. He let his eyes meet Paul's, who returned the gaze with a quizzical look, as he walked off toward the FEMA trailers. He managed to catch sight of the man casually heading the same general direction a few trailers down before they both disappeared behind the metal houses.

When Daryl got to the backs of the row he didn't see Paul immediately and had to wander up the line before he came across the man casually leaning against one and acting like he'd been there the whole time.

"Hey," he said, that sad smile Daryl had come to know curving his lips, arms crossed.

"Hey," Daryl said back, crossing his own arms. He bit at his bottom lip for a moment before taking a deep breath and spitting out, "So uh, we ain't gonna be comin' back here no more 'less somethin' goes wrong on your end."

"So I heard."

"You gonna be one of the people that brings the deliveries down?"

Paul's brow creased and he tilted his head. Then his smile grew a little more playful and a lot less sad, "Wasn't planning on it. I'm a scout. I scavenge. Deliveries would take time away from that. Why? Do you want me to?"

"Pfft. No." Yes. "Just... curious I guess. I ain't even sure I'd be around to see you if you did anyway."

"They still having you patrol, then?"

"Yeah. It's what I do best. Aside from huntin'."

"Well... maybe I'll see you on the road," Paul said and pushed himself off from the trailer, that smile dominating his face now as he turned himself to head back towards the big house. His hair, free of that stupid hat he'd had before, whipping around in the light wind. He walked backwards a few feet and said, "I'm thinking I'll try and see if that strip mall to the south of here about twelve miles, Oakridge Commons I think it's called?... see if it has anything worth bringing back. It's been too full of the dead the last couple times I've been there to be worth trying. Maybe it'll be clear this time."

Daryl brought his thumb to his mouth and grunted, then nodded and called back just as Paul hit the edge of the trailer, "Yeah. Maybe. Good luck with that."

Paul didn't say anything else before he turned his back on Daryl, but after they'd loaded the truck up with what Hilltop could provide, he stopped Brian to have a chat.

"Since we got the outpost up and running, I was thinkin' I'd scout a little further out. Get some spots marked for a clearin' crew. Go about twenty miles south and back. Probably take me a week to mark the maps and any migrations." This sort of request on Daryl's part wasn't anything particularly new, save for the fact he was asking for a full week to do it in. But he was hoping that the outpost being what it was now would make it reasonable.

Brian actually looked like he could be down for it, but he still shook his head, "Gonna have to ask Negan on that. I don't know how he wants rotations set up over there yet. Might need to wait for longer trips until we're all moved in."

"I can head back to Sanctuary and check," Daryl offered. "Ask him about that and the final man count he's wanting and if there's anyone in particular he wants there, too. Simon's gonna do most of the pickin', but Negan's probably got some names in mind. He'll be wanting the report on Hilltop's givin' this week anyway. Can run it all at once and be back in the mornin'."

This went over better and Brian didn't take any time at all to agree. He called Matt over with the numbers and Daryl stuffed them into his vest pocket. Smooth and easy. Now it was just down to convincing Negan without making it seem like a big deal.

Not that it was. If Daryl didn't see Paul it didn't matter. Wasn't like they were friends or nothin.

 **...**

He'd gone to see Negan immediately after pulling in. Had someone else park the bike and justified the asking with a wave of the paper he had in his hands, and an out of breath, "Got the numbers from Hilltop for Negan." That shut up any objection out the gate. Negan himself had been happy to see the produce had increased with the first of the spring harvest, but the rest of the numbers were less than what he liked. Made Daryl nervous to broach the topic at hand. Negan in a mood wasn't something he wanted to deal with.

Fortunately, Daryl was being smiled down on by someone. Or some shit like that. Because Negan thought it was a great idea to jump right into scouting the roads further out now that they had a base they could do it from without having to waste gas on the kind of cars that would need to be brought just to feed someone for a trip that long. He also had a list of names of people who'd be stationed there on a more permanent rotation. Daryl recognized all the names and in short enough order was left off to take care of informing them of their new assignment.

Daryl wasn't stationed there, of course. He wasn't 'stationed' anywhere. His job as a road scout meant he went where he was needed and spent time sleeping at whatever outpost was close enough to the area he'd been assigned. All the did was check in with the outpost lieutenant and let Merle know what was going on when he could. Then he was on his way. Did his job well, too.

He hadn't really thought any of that was much of a problem except for the fact that he only saw his brother a couple times a week if he was lucky. Walking in to the room he shared with Merle that evening, after he'd done what he needed to, he was pretty sure he'd seen more than enough of Merle to last him a life time. Merle and the guy he was pounding the ass of.

Daryl stood in the door, dumbfounded, for all of three seconds before Merle noticed and scrambled to pull out and put a blanket around his waist. The other man, a younger guy in his 20s Daryl recognized somewhere in the back of his head as Jason, was diving for the floor on the other side of the bed where he couldn't be easily seen by anyone walking past.

"Godammit, Daryl! Shut the damn door 'fore someone sees! Don't need my dick hanging out for the world to ogle," he hissed as he barged past Daryl to pull him inside and close the door.

Daryl was playing mental gymnastics to justify what he'd just seen and couldn't speak immediately. Merle met his wide eyes with a roll of his own, "Don't look at me like that. It ain't like you never seen a man get his jimmies rustled. I know you watched porn before."

"Not my own brother!" The words burst out of him before they even registered in his head. "And not with another man!"

"Hey!" Merle rounded on him, poking him in the chest while Jason quietly lifted himself off the floor just far enough to snag his pants from the bed. "I ain't no fag if that's what you're implying. Jason's the fag." He turned to and looked over his shoulder, glaring at the man he'd just been fucking. "Ain't that right, Sweetcheeks?"

"Sure is!" Jason agreed, sarcastic and obviously upset.

Merle let out a disgusted sigh, rolled his eyes, and moved back toward his - lover? Daryl didn't know what to call him - "Oh don't be like that. You know you're the only ass I'm gettin' right now."

"Oh but you're not a 'fag'?" Jason bit back, his pants now on and the belt going back in.

"I ain't gay!" Merle defended himself. "I like women, too. That ain't gay."

Jason paused to just stare at him before shaking his head and ducking around him to find his socks and shoes.

"What?" His brother looked honestly confused and it was probably that which made Jason take pity on him.

The man dropped his shoulders and leaned his head back, then turned and walked over to Merle. He placed a hand on his shoulder, took a deep breath, then leaned in to kiss him hard. No tongue, for which Daryl was eternally grateful because he already had one mental image he was going to have to scrub from his mind. When he broke the kiss, Jason patted Merle on the chest, "I'll see you in a couple days. We can talk and fuck then. But it's gonna be my room because I cannot keep putting up with the lack of a lock on yours."

"Fine, fine," Merle agreed, landing a loud slap on the man's ass as he turned to go. "See you later."

Jason shut the door behind him leaving Daryl and Merle to stand there staring at each other. Daryl still trying to process it all and Merle confused as to what the problem was.

"What?"

"You just-"

"Didn't you just hear me tell him? I like women just fine."

"But you were-"

"Gettin' myself some sweet ass? You damn right I was," Merle agreed, finally moving around the bed to grab his own pants and pull them on. Daryl averted his eyes as soon as the blanket dropped. "Ain't like I ain't gonna take Negan up on it when he let's me have pussy, but a man's got needs. Surprised you ain't figured out which asses 'round here would drop trou for you. Plenty been moonin' for some sweet, sweet Dixon lovin' since we got here."

"God dammit, Merle!" Daryl started pacing, agitated beyond anything he'd felt before. "What the hell are you playing at here? You been tellin' me all my life that shit like that's gonna get me killed and you been doin' it the whole time?"

Merle rolled his eyes, then got serious, "Bein' a fag _used_ to get you killed. You think I wanted to see you get your ass kicked so hard I'd have to bury you? 'Course not. You know what daddy used to do to me when he thought I might be gettin' too close to my friends? That belt of his weren't just to keep his pants up."

Daryl couldn't help the flinch or the way his hands clenched. He knew. Merle wasn't alone in that. "Yeah, I know."

"I didn't wanna see you have ta go through that," he said, sighing and sitting down on his bed. "Don't mean it's actually _wrong_. Plenty of good men're like that. I mighta punched my superior officer, but I ain't never looked down on those I served with. More'n a few were fags. Just, I ain't one of them."

"Then what are you?" he asked, quiet. Still confused, but Merle didn't have serious conversations with him very often and he needed to know. Everything he thought he knew about his brother and what he'd do if he ever found out Daryl... he needed to know.

Merle patted the bed next to him for Daryl to come sit with him. Have a brother to brother talk like they used to a long, long time ago. Before Merle left for the marines. Daryl shuffled over to join him. His shoulders were slumped and his head down, but he kept his eyes on Merle.

"Okay so, a fag's a guy that only likes sex with other guys, right?" He started, rubbing at his knees with his hands. This was obviously never something he thought he'd have to go through with his brother. "A dyke's a girl that only likes sex with other girls. You know that right?"

"'Course."

"Well, outside a that you got them bisexuals who like both. And I guess I could be one of them, but that implies it's just men and women that get my motor runnin' and truth is, I don't really care about what's between someone's legs. I just like sex."

Daryl waited for more to come and when it didn't he spread his hands, still just as confused as he was when Merle had him sit down, "So what does that make you? Sex-sexual?"

"Yeah. Something like that," Merle shook his head. "Think there's another word for it, but I ain't never looked into it much. Just point of fact is I ain't solely into men or women, you know? If they's attractive and willin' it don't much matter. Hell, sometimes it don't even matter if they're attractive."

"Holy shit, no wonder you caught the clap so much," Daryl ran his hands down his face before his comment earned him a slap in the shoulder.

"That were a recurring illness," he corrected. "And one you ain't gonna go spreadin' around, you understand."

Daryl stood and started to pace, "Why the fuck would I? I don't wanna talk about your sex life."

"Then why the fuck're you so hung up on it right now?"

"'CAUSE I THOUGHT IF I CAME OUT TO YOU, YOU'D KILL ME!"

The silence that followed had Daryl worrying Merle really would kill him despite what he'd just said. It grew so long and so thick, Daryl started to pull in on himself, trying to prepare for the enviable.

It was broken with a very soft and confused, "You're... gay?"


	3. The Southward Road

_Jesus sighed and tilted his head back, "The point is he's a good man and he's been just as scared of running and fighting back as I have. As anyone has. I just... I just want you to try. Please."_

 **...**

"Normally I wouldn't try to pry, but you've been acting... upset, the whole time we've been here," Paul said slowly, cautiously. He was worried, genuinely worried about a guy he barely knew.

"We only been here a couple hours," Daryl snapped, slamming his knife into the head of a walker that probably hadn't seen the light of day since it all started.

Paul got ahead of him and took out the next one, not at all worried about it with as slow moving as it was, "That's the point. You were already worked up before you showed up and you've been taking it out on the dead. We could have had every last one of these dealt with in half the time it's taken."

"Yeah? Then why ain't we?"

"Because I thought letting you take your time would help you work it out of your system and maybe we could enjoy ourselves after."

Daryl growled and turned on his heel to head for the last two. They'd been stuck behind a counter unable to climb over in their stupidity. Paul let him go and didn't try to help. He followed after at a casual pace, glancing at the shelves while he cleaned his knives.

"Okay, I can accept that you don't want to talk about it. But can you move past it enough to actually talk to me about something? Anything? ...That doesn't involve you using that head as a target practice. It's kind of disgusting now that it's open like that."

He pulled his knife out of the pile of rotted skin, soft bone, and brain. Took a deep breath because Paul was right. He didn't like that Paul was right. But what he was doing wasn't helping in the least. Not with how he'd left things with Merle.

He'd just walked out on him. He didn't know how to respond to that baffled look when Merle'd asked if he was gay. Hell, he hadn't meant to even say that. He'd been so worked up about what he saw, what Merle was saying, that it'd just slipped out. The first time he'd ever admitted out loud what he was. What he'd always been.

Daryl went still and dropped his head. He took another deep breath and murmured, "Had an argument with my brother 'fore I came down here. Found out he's been lying to me my whole life about somethin' important."

"Oh." Paul's voice was just as quiet and it sounded as awkward as Daryl felt.

Daryl didn't share his feelings. He'd learned not to. It was dangerous. Made him a target. But this was all new territory. He was out to his brother and his brother was out to him. Only he hadn't given either of them any time to talk about it. He'd just run away.

Paul moved closer to lean against the counter, "I'm sorry."

Daryl shrugged, shaking his head, "Ain't your fault he's an asshole."

"Still... I'm sorry you had a fight. Is he... is there anyone else in your family still around?"

Daryl glanced over before shaking his head again, "No. Daddy died at the start. Uncle Jess, too. They was all we had left 'cept for Jess' wife and kids, but we weren't ever close with them. She didn't like us and Jess couldn't never convince her otherwise. Not sure what happened to them, but it ain't that hard to speculate."

Paul nodded and went silent, letting his eyes scan the store. A dollar general. Lots of potential dry goods waiting to be taken. Toiletries, too. Other odds and ends. Some over the counter drugs. Things that would serve both the Hilltop and the Saviors. Daryl could already tell he was doing the mental calculations of how fast it would go with the Saviors taking half of what they had every time. Not long. A few weeks maybe. A lot less than it really should. He didn't say any of that, though, when he opened his mouth again.

"I don't know if any of my family are still out there," he said, obviously resigned to that. "I grew up in the area, Delaware side, but my parents retired to Florida three years Before. My brother moved to San Jose a decade ago and I was in Frisco until about two years Before. That's when I moved out here. To D.C. Well, not D.C. proper, but a small 'up and coming' community that only had rent cheap enough for me to afford because it was a 45 minute commute into the city. It was still just as small as anything I would have gotten closer in. Without roommates. But half the price, so..." Paul shrugged and offered Daryl a small smile.

Daryl couldn't hold his gaze and let his eyes drop but he was calming down. Wasn't talking about the real problem or anything, just... it was sorta nice to have a conversation that didn't revolve around sex or the next group of people Negan was targeting or all the other stupid shit people around Sanctuary got into. Let him continue to avoid his problems.

"I ain't never left Georgia until this started," he admitted, his knife digging into the counter top as he started to spin it idly. "Hell, I ain't even left the northern half of the state. Stuck around the mountains. Furthest south I ever been was Macon and that was only 'cause Merle decided he wanted us to ride on out of Atlanta to 'see the world' one summer. The 'world' ended up being a run down house he'd gotten wind was tryin' to liquidate it's assets 'fore the cops caught onto 'em. Didn't have time to run it through their usual people or some shit. A couple of guys on a hog was good enough to pass it onto for a quick buck. Just had to keep passin' it to make our money back. Not that he did. Merle weren't gonna give up a prize like that. He finished it off by the end of the week. We spent most of the time in a motel or at the bar next door."

"He sounds like a real peach," Paul said, smile spreading slowly as he pushed himself off the counter. "And speaking of peaches, I think I saw some cans back there. Might be one or two still worth opening."

Daryl followed Paul with his eyes as he moved through the isles, his flashlight out to help with the darker corners and lower shelves. He waited until he saw the man crouch down before he wandered after, his own flashlight coming out and on to help.

"You got a can opener on you?"

Paul shook his head without looking up, "No. But the kitchen isle should have some mixed in with the pots and pans and spatulas. That's where they always were in the supermarkets."

Daryl swung his flashlight up to see if there were any signs pointing to the isles. There weren't, which figured. Stock was usually turned over too much for it to matter in stores like this one. He moved away to start walking the isles and scanning their goods. A lot of cans and boxes like he'd thought. Most of which actually looked to be in pretty good condition. Some had been torn open and in a back corner there was what used to be a camp area.

A couple mattresses that had probably been dragged in from the mattress store next door had been set up with blankets and pillows and a small end table. Most of it was knocked over and messed up now. What looked like dried blood coated one of them. The doors, when they'd first gotten there, had been locked from the inside and with the number of dead roaming around combined with the camp, it was pretty obvious this had been used as a safehouse for a while. Likely right when it started. One of their own had been bit though, probably. And probably didn't know enough to put them down before they got back up and spread it.

Daryl shook his head and muttered to himself about people being stupid, then moved on. He finally found the section with kitchenwares against the far wall and about halfway down were some hand can-openers still in their packaging. He grabbed two and shut his flashlight off. They were both out of the package by the time he got back to Paul, who had scrounged up one of the blankets and laid it out on the floor in front of the canned peaches. A couple of paper plates were set out along with plastic cups and a freshly opened box of plastic forks. An unopened gallon of water sat in the middle next to a can of peaches, a can of creamed corn, and a can of green beans.

"The selection's pretty good, but I figured these would probably go together the best," he explained as he cracked open the water and poured a cup for each of them.

"No pickles?" Daryl asked as he sat down, not bothering to question the impromptu picnic. He handed over one of the can-openers and took the creamed corn in trade.

Paul shook his head while he opened the green beans, "Not in this isle. Maybe one over? I didn't do a really thorough check."

"We can inventory it later. Maybe tomorrow," Daryl said as he got to scooping his share of the veggies out and onto the plate. When he was done, he passed the corn over to Paul and took the green beans. Both of them seemed to be of the unstated opinion that the peaches would wait for desert.

"Mmm," Paul intoned just after stuffing a forkful of the beans in his mouth, "A feast fit for a king."

If he'd been trying to make Daryl laugh, he was successful. It weren't more than a low chuckle, but a laugh was a laugh.

 **...**

The two spent the next three days organizing the goods and getting them piled up in easy to carry loads. The food stored in the back, near the exit and the other little necessities and treats like the pots and pans and women's needs set up near the front of the store. Tried to make it look like it'd been long since looted of anything truly worth while. Paul went along with it and didn't question Daryl when he said Paul should come back every so often to grab another smaller load to take back to the Hilltop. Make it last longer. He seemed to get that Daryl was trying to help make sure they could pay their dues without running out fast.

Daryl appreciated that he didn't ask. It meant he didn't have to justify his actions. To himself or otherwise. He'd never been happy with the Savior's and with all he'd been accomplice to so far, maybe it was just a way to try and atone. Or maybe he just liked Paul enough to do it. He didn't really want to think on it that hard.

 **...**

It took another month before they ran into each other again. Daryl got sent to other roads partially because he needed to and partially because he was taking any opportunity he could to avoid talking to Merle alone. He still wasn't sure what to do with what he'd found out and avoiding it altogether was easier. Unfortunately it was constantly on his mind, driving him nuts.

He might not have known Paul that well yet, but the man was learning to read him fast. Daryl knew from the look he got when they did meet up that Paul could tell something was bothering him. Again. Still.

"Can I ask you something?" He asked, leaning on the handlebars of his bike before Paul could even get a hello out. The man had come wandering out of the woods after Daryl cut his engine and started writing down notes on his map. Daryl found he wasn't even surprised to see him.

Paul raised his eyebrows and moved closer, "Sure."

"You ever had something you wanted to talk about but every time you had a chance to, you just... couldn't bring yourself to do it?" Usually Daryl didn't want to talk about things that bothered him. Not ever. He'd rather push it away. But the thing with Merle, and with him outing himself to him... it was actually something he wanted to talk about. Just couldn't figure out how to. His whole life he'd been told never to even entertain such thoughts. Wanting to talk about it was new. Difficult.

"I..." he hesitated before sucking an deep breath and nodding, "Yeah. I have."

"Can I ask what it was? Or at least what you did with it?"

Paul took another breath and started pacing. He didn't seem particularly nervous, but rather like he was trying to gather his thoughts. It took him a few to get there, too, before he said, "I wanted to go to college in California. My parents wanted me to go somewhere closer to home. Specifically in state, in Delaware. They both graduated from the same college. Met there, actually. ...They wanted me to share their Alma Matter. I just wanted to get as far as I could from them."

He laughed ruefully, shaking his head, "Every day of school from the time I was twelve right up to the day I graduated, they would go on about how much fun I'd have there and how great it was I could live at home to save costs and that they were going to convert the basement into an apartment for me so I could have my own space. It was already set up as a gym so I could practice my martial arts with dad, but they were planning a full renovation as my graduation gift.

"I sat them down the night of my graduation and finally told them I'd applied to several colleges in California and gotten accepted. I had my choice to pick from. They were happy for me but when then they asked about _their_ college ...and I had to tell them that I hadn't applied to any anywhere else."

Paul stopped moving at that point. The memory was a painful one. More so now than it had been Before, in all likelihood. It was easy to read on his face.

"They weren't happy," he started again, voice soft, bittersweet. "They were confused because as far as they knew I'd always been excited about going to _their_ school. I'd always rooted for _their_ team. I'd always wanted _their_ experiences. And I had to try and explain that what they'd thought was true was only because they didn't listen to me. That they ran roughshod with their excitement over anything I tried to say that challenged it. It wasn't easy and there was a lot of yelling."

Paul took another deep breath before looking up at Daryl and trying to shrug it all away, "I mean, we didn't break apart as a family, but it wasn't something that was easy to talk about and it took years of me living across country and telling them how well I was doing before they accepted that I hadn't missed out on anything they'd wanted me to. I was just in different colors on spirit day and rooted for a different team when football season came around. It probably would have been easier if I hadn't waited as long as I had. But I was more scared of disappointing them than I was scared of disappointing myself. I just... At the end, when I finally told them, it was because I didn't want to keep having that albatross on my shoulder. It was making me miserable and I couldn't live like that anymore."

That was where he finished and Daryl was left leaning against his handlebars in silence. It wasn't exactly the same situation, but he supposed the moral of it applied well enough. Don't let it fester if you don't have to. Was easier to say than to do, though. Especially with a brother like Merle who wasn't exactly the accepting type.

Paul laughed while Daryl was ruminating, reminiscing with himself, "Actually, looking back on it, I'm surprised it was easier to tell them I was gay than it was to tell them I wanted to go to the 'wrong' school."

The laughter died when he looked at Daryl and saw him staring. Then his brow creased into a frown, "Sorry if that's a problem, but I'm not ashamed of-"

"Ain't a problem," Daryl cut him off, ducking his head and sitting up. He sniffed loudly and pressed his hands against his jeans. Rubbed at them nervously. Shook his head again and changed the subject, "What you out here for? Nothin' near by worth lootin'."

Paul tilted his head, studying Daryl for a moment, but he didn't press the subject. Instead he answered, "There's a small river about a mile east of here. There's a really good view of the land from a small cliff near it. I was heading there to see if I could spot any herds moving through before I went further. It's all woods between here and there. If you want to come with me."

Daryl really should have said no. He had work to do. But he walked his bike to the side of the road and down into the woods beyond. Pulled some fallen branches around it to make it look like nothin' more than a big old bush. His crossbow got strung over his shoulder and he took up walkin' along side Paul.

The man smiled and reached out for his head, pausing and drawing his hand back when Daryl flinched away, "Your hair's growing out."

"I guess so," Daryl shrugged and pretended he hadn't reacted at all.

Again, Paul didn't question him. Just let him go on.

It was nice.

 **...**

A week after the talk with Paul he sucked his apprehension up and went to find Merle. He lucked out and his brother wasn't getting high. Or maybe it was unlucky. He'd figure that out after it was all said and done.

He waited in their room until Merle showed up that night after supper. His brother walked in and slammed the door. Toed his boots off and started to take off his pants when Daryl spoke up from the EZ chair he was curled up in.

"Leave those on, ain't got nothin' I wanna see under there," he barked, annoyed that Merle hadn't even noticed him. Granted he was sitting in the chair that was hardest to see from the door. But that wasn't an excuse he was going to let his brother get away with later. Assuming things went well enough for them both to be calm around each other again.

Merle spun on his heels and tugged at his pants to keep them up, "Well it's about time you got off your period."

"Shut up," he answered, leaning forward and dropping his feet to the floor. "We gotta talk I don't want none of your bullshit."

"Can't talk if you want me to shut up="

"I said shut the hell up! You don't gotta go runnin' your mouth for us to talk. I got shit to say to you." Daryl took a deep breath and stood, then started to pace. "My whole fuckin' life you and everyone I knew been tellin' me not to be what I am. Tellin' me it's sick and wrong and if I ever was that, it'd be better to be dead. And here you been, doin' the same sorta shit, gettin' your jollies in while I been tormentin' myself with the idea that _you_ would rather me be six feet under than to ever do that. What happened to being nobody's bitch, Merle?"

"Fuck you! I ain't nobody's bitch! And neither is you!" Merle shouted back. His voice took on a more normal tone after Daryl looked away and shook his head, defensive like this wasn't something he should have to defend. "If I'da thought you was gay I woulda pulled you aside and told you it was okay. I didn't know you was into guys."

Daryl spun back around, giving him an 'are you shitting me' look, "How the hell was you supposed to tell that when it got beat inta botha us not to ever be that? _Everyone_ I knew said not to be. I didn't wanna _die_. I had ta lay with three women just to give you shitheads proof I weren't born wrong. You think I enjoyed that? Closing my eyes and havin' ta pretend I liked it?

"Hell I don't even know if I like sex in the first place!" he went on, pacing like he was getting ready to tackle his brother and beat his ass in. He felt like it. Felt like fighting and beating the shit out of someone. Something. He wasn't going to, because that would have just derailed the whole issue, but he sure as fuck felt like it. "And I ain't never had the chance to see if I do 'cause I ain't never had the chance to try it with someone I _do_ like! All I've had is women shoved in my face and all'ya'll goin' on about how good their tits and ass is and how much I should be appreciatin' that! WELL I DON'T FUCKIN' APPRECIATE IT! I NEVER HAVE! SO FUCK YOU! AND FUCK YOUR 'IF I'DA KNOWNS'!"

Daryl kicked one of the side tables just to do it and it felt good. Not as good as punching Merle probably would have right then and there, but safer and not something he'd end up regretting later. His hands found his face after, rubbing at it while he sucked in heavy breaths and tried to calm the shakes that had started.

Merle stood there, looking appropriately chastised. It wouldn't last long, because Merle always managed to turn conversations around so they were about him and what he wanted. But for the moment, Daryl would take it.

He brought his voice back down, still rubbing at his eyes and attempting to remove the tears that wanted to shed before they had the chance, "You left me there, Merle. You left me in that house. With _him_. You came around, and you'd take me with you for a spell, but you always left me with him. His friends. Uncle Jess. Every last one of those sons of bitches woulda put a shotgun to my chest and pissed on my grave if they'd had one whiff I was anything but a pussyhound like them. Like you. And you really think you can stand there and say that you thought you'd be able to _tell_? That's bullshit and you know it."

"C'mon baby brother," Merle whined, more distressed than Daryl had seen him in a long time. "I thought... I thought that if you'da been lookin' below the belt on anyone I'd catch it. You never did when you was in school."

"You left when I was eleven!"

"I was lookin' at girls when I was nine!"

"I didn't even know it was a thing that you could like guys 'til I was fourteen! No one ever told me that 'til daddy caught a couple walking down the street hand'n'hand and told me it was wrong," he said it and the agitation, the urge to start yelling again rose up. He didn't like yelling at Merle. He didn't really like yelling much at all, but it was the only safe way of getting the anger and pain out that he knew. "I thought I was broken 'cause every other boy my age was lookin' at tits and I stared and I stared and I couldn't understand what anyone found appealin' in that! I thought I was was wrong and unnatural when I spent time in gym and I got a stiffy in the changing room! I stopped goin' at all, failed my classes, jus' ta avoid it!"

Daryl threw his head back and kicked at the overturned table again. He'd never talked so much to anyone, not even Merle, about anything like this before.

"I banged that hooker you got me for my 18th birthday and the one daddy got me on my 21st and the one Uncle Jess got me for my 25th 'cause he thought I wasn't getting enough when he came over for hunting trips! After that I just started making up names and stories like the ones you'd tell me to shut all'a you up. You know how sick that made me? You know how much I started drinking just to get through the lies? And you never made it easier. You were the worse of 'em! You brought around those girls and were always encouraging them to touch me and get all over me. Half the time I had to get so shitfaced I couldn't do nothin' but pass out to avoid anything. The other half I had to find shit to do or just push 'em away and get you mad at me for insulting all the 'fine ass pussy' you'd found!"

He stomped across the room, set his hands to his brother's chest, and pushed. Hard. Sent him stumbling back 'til he hit the bed and had to catch himself. "DAMMIT MERLE I HATED YOU SO MUCH AND I HATE HATING YOU!"

He broke down entirely then. He always bottled it up but now that it was coming out, he just couldn't stop it. It needed to be released. All the pain, all the anger. Decades of build up just flooding out. He fell to his knees and rolled onto his side, clutching at his chest. Sobbed so hard he couldn't breathe.

Merle dropped next to him, hovered over him for a moment, then pulled him up, into his arms. He hadn't held Daryl like that since before he got enlisted. But he still remembered how. Daryl couldn't hear the words, just that Merle was being soft with him. He thought it was an apology. It sounded like one even if he couldn't make them out past his own blubbering. There weren't no making fun of him now and it was freeing.

He felt pathetic and lighter than he ever had at the same time.

 **...**

The next time he saw Paul it was almost a month later and he was in just as shit a mood as he had been when the whole thing with Merle started. And it was, once again, Merle his anger was directed at. For entirely different reasons. Or related, but different reasons, rather.

"Every time I see you, you're in a mood," Paul said, seeming resigned now to this being a common occurrence.

They hadn't planned this get together, but when Daryl saw the car he recognized as the one Paul had been driving the first time they'd run into each other, he'd hidden his bike and went hunting. Paul was a sneaky bastard but he had no real experience hiding his tracks from a skilled and experienced tracker. None of the Saviors knew shit about tracking properly. They could hide in the woods well enough, but they still left signs that were easy to find and follow. If one knew what they were looking for. So far Daryl and Merle hadn't come across anyone else in the ranks that did. Made them a little more valuable.

Daryl cast an annoyed glare at his friend before letting out a loud sigh and rubbing at his temple, "It's Merle."

"It's always Merle," Paul responded with a meaningful stare right back, not intimidated in the least.

"That's 'cause he's always an asshole."

"You don't mean that."

"Yes I do."

Paul raised his eyebrows and Daryl ended up breaking their eye contact first. He turned his head away, sullen but not really mad at Paul for pushing it like that.

"What did he do this time?" he asked as he came up to Daryl's side and titled his head to try and get a look at his face. "Same thing you were fighting over before?"

Daryl shook his head and continued to avoid eye contact, "Not really. It's just... he just won't leave me alone about it now."

"That sounds a lot like it is about the same thing."

"Well it's not," Daryl snapped and Paul raised his hands in surrender.

"Okay. It's not."

Daryl's shoulders hunched and he ducked his head. Took a deep breath. Then muttered, "Sorry. Ain't you I'm upset at."

"I know," Paul smiled and reached out slowly for his face. He took his time this time around and when Daryl flinched and froze, he gave him time to relax before he continued the motion to brush some stray hair back behind his ear. It was only just long enough to do that now. Kept falling in his eyes whenever he looked down. He didn't know when Paul had picked up that it wasn't him he was flinching at, but he must have. That or he was just really persistent in being nice. Maybe both.

"He's trying to hook me up," Daryl admitted some moments later, feeling his face heat up. "Won't stop pushing me at... people."

Paul gave him a funny look before repeating, "People?"

Daryl cleared his throat and coughed, "Guys." Cleared it again right after.

Paul's eyebrows shot up and his mouth opened in a surprised, but suddenly pleased, 'oh'.

"Don't think that means nothin," Daryl scowled and pointed at him like he was scolding a child.

"So it doesn't mean you're-"

Daryl didn't give him a chance to finish, "It don't mean nothin. I'm... still figuring things out."

"Okay."

His eyes darted over to make sure he wasn't being mocked. The teasing smile Paul had been getting was gone. There was still a smile, sure. Paul liked to smile. Seemed to be endemic to him or something. But he wasn't mocking Daryl.

"Okay," he said again, shrugging. Then he changed the subject, spinning idly to look around them, "So what are we going to do today, Brain?"

Daryl snorted, the tension easing as he elbowed Paul and started walking, "Same thing we do every time we're out here, Idiot. Find you something to take back home."

"That's not the line," Paul argued, following after and sounded genuinely exasperated and a little disgusted. Grinning like the fool he was.


	4. The Eastward Road

_Rick reached up to rub the back of his neck and looked around the table at his people. At Maggie, who shook her head and shrugged, ambivilent at best. At Glenn, who was frowning, but when he met Rick's eyes, nodded. At Michonne, who was the tie breaker. She was visibly weighing the pros and cons of the request._

 _"We aren't going to be able to recognize him," she said eventually, sighing and rubbing one hand on her arm where they were crossed. She turned her eyes to Jesus, who was visibly crushed, assuming it had been decided, "You'd have to come in with us."_

 **...**

Daryl paced behind Danny and Lizbet, scowling at Paul who stood with his hands up, eyes wide. He wasn't dressed like he normally was when he went out on a run. Daryl's guess was that he'd shed his coat, hat, and vest somewhere so he wasn't as recognizable when he went to put them back on. He was making a hard play at being an innocent soul with no ill intent that had stumbled into the wrong territory purely on accident.

Daryl had hoped that when Paul saw he wasn't alone this week, he'd avoid him and just try to meet up the next. They'd managed to find at least one day in the last six weeks to get together and shoot the shit. Maybe try and clear a building, fish some supplies out for the Hilltop that Daryl never mentioned in his reports. Catch up on things and badger each other about the stupid they had to deal with. Him with Merle and Simon and Fat Joey. Paul with Gregory and his on again, off again boyfriend Alex, and sometimes Wes.

Man was stupidly lucky Daryl was the leader on the outing or Danny would more than likely shot him already. As it was, he and Lizbet were standing with their guns out, waiting for the order. Both looked more nervous than he was used to them looking. But it was the first time either of them had witnessed Daryl's anger, so he supposed they had reason. Wasn't like Daryl'd gotten mad in front of the other Saviors more than once since joining up. Agitated, surly, sure. But not full out ready to beat someone's ass angry.

"Your pockets," Daryl snapped, turning on his heel all of a sudden, a ground-swallowing stride bringing him right up to Jesus where he leaned his head down and pressed his forehead into the other man. He used his body to force him to take a step back even as Paul met his eyes without fear. "Empty them."

Paul moved his hands slowly down to his sides and started to turn out his pockets. A total of six and all of them were empty.

Daryl growled and pushed forward again, chest to chest, "You ain't got shit on you and you're too far from Hilltop to walk. You got a camp? Someone else with you?"

"No," he shook his head and Daryl could swear he was trying not to smile. _Fucking prick._ "I have a car. A few miles from here. I left it so I wouldn't draw the dead with the noise. They've been in the area the last couple times I've tried coming down this way. Alone, I can't do anything to them."

A sensible answer. He'd obviously planned his story out in his head before making himself known. That just pissed Daryl off more because it was obvious Paul was relying on Daryl to keep him out of trouble. He couldn't have known Daryl was in charge of the impromptu group outing to draw a small herd off the road and either take it out or lead it away. But he'd still walked out, confident Daryl wouldn't let the other two hurt him.

Daryl snarled and turned around to stalk away. Danny and Lizbet exchanged glances and Lizbet was the one to cautiously ask, "Should we-"

"Let the little shit go and get your asses over here!" Daryl shouted without looking back. "We got more important shit to worry about than a stupid scout with no sense in 'im!"

"I could help out?" Paul called immediately and Daryl wanted to walk back and strangle him. He'd been given the perfect out and there he was, insisting on getting tangled up in shit that didn't involve him. "I mean, if you're clearling out the dead, I have knives. And four is better than three. I need to get through here to find supplies for you as it is."

Daryl shot him another glare from over his shoulder and started to pace again. Danny and Lizbet were putting their guns away, but they were looking between him and Paul and it was obvious they also thought Paul was being stupid and naive. Paul met his eyes, hands still up. He was doing it on purpose. Playing at being thick in the head.

"Fine!" he snapped, turning back towards the road. "You can get the stragglers on the edges. But stay outta our way."

 **...**

Merle found him three days later in Sanctuary, looking over his bike. He'd done the regular maintenance on Merle's bike for most of it's life because of how often his brother was in and out of jail. It usually gave him a sense of peace to work on it when he was worked up. Usually. Sometimes. The stunt Paul pulled had been stewing in him. He wouldn't be able to get out to see the idiot and chew him out until the next week. All he could do was try and distract himself.

Merle's hand came down on his back as he was leaning away to get a new wrench. It was a hard slap, friendly, but meant to jar him. Daryl shot him a scowl and he grinned back, "Rumor going around is you had some bitch from the Hilltop sniffin' around your ass when you were clearing that herd out."

"Shut up, Merle," Daryl muttered, though it held little of the usual venom. Something Merle picked up on without effort.

"So it's true," he cooed, moving around the other side of the bike and leaning down so he could rest his arms on the seat. He always did like to look down on Daryl when he was teasing. "And you liked it."

"Did not," the denial came easily. It was too well practiced. But once again, it didn't hold any sting to it. He couldn't seem to get any conviction behind him with how worried he was.

Merle grinned and rocked his shoulders cheerfully, "Heard he was this little blond haired, blue-eyed, piece of ass."

Daryl dropped his wrench loudly in the box and started cleaning up, holding back on the urge to correct his brother. Paul had green eyes. _With bits of brown and blue, like discolored sea foam._ He wasn't done, but he didn't need the hassle. Of course, Merle wasn't going to leave it at that. He followed Daryl around, continuing his joyful teasing.

"Lizbet said he couldn't keep his mouth shut, but his eyes stayed on you the whole time. Kept giving you the doe eyes. Said it looked like you yelling at him got his motor running. She thinks he probably got a chubby when you got in his face. That all he wanted to do was tag along and try and get your attention."

"He weren't sniffin' around," Daryl snapped, shutting the storage cabinet harder than he needed to and making the tools inside rattle.

Merle was leaning against the wall by the door, looking like a cat with the cream, "I think he was. Women, they can tell those things, you know."

"He weren't sniffin' Merle! He has a boyfriend!"

"...how would you know that?"

Daryl froze, realizing what he'd just said. His eyes slid shut and his head fell forward against the cabinet. He could hear Merle pushing off from the wall and sure enough, his brother was there, near his ear not a moment later.

"You been seein' him," Merle accused in a conspiratorial whisper. "You been sneakin' out to get yourself a little lovin'."

"Shut up about things you don't know about," Daryl hissed back, jerking his head around to make sure they were really alone. "He scavenges in the areas I scout sometimes is all. We ain't been doin' nothin' but talkin'."

"You want to, though," he pushed, still grinning. Reveling in the fact he'd found something he could finally have a proper 'boys talk' with his brother about. "You gotta let me meet him."

"What? No!"

Merle pretended to be offended, "Oh c'mon, Daryl! If you really ain't doin' nothin', what's a little meetin' gonna do? You jealous he might start lookin' at me?"

Daryl pushed his brother out of his face, "Told you ain't nothin' like that goin' on. I don't want him to meet you 'cause you're a jackass."

"AIn't stopped you before!" Merle laughed and caught up with Daryl, slung an arm over his shoulder, "C'mon baby brother, we can spend some of them points you been saving up. Go on a vacation for a week. Get out camping, hunting. Buy us some beer even so we can crack one open around the fire."

"I go camping every week. I don't got a regular bed like you."

"That's different and you know it. And you can invite your friend out. I can invite Eddie along. Have ourselves a little sleep out under the stars."

He didn't try to push Merle off of him while they walked, but he did lower his voice now that they'd entered the halls and more people were around, "Eddie?"

"Yeah. Piece of tail I caught this weekend. New recruit from near that Kingdom place. Real eager to please."

"I don't need to hear that."

"You asked."

"You coulda just said it was a piece of tail and left it at that," he growled, finally ducking out from under Merle's arm as they came up to the cafeteria. Daryl peeled away to get in line for food and Merle just laughed.

 **...**

Daryl spent the points for time off, course. Merle just had to heckle him into it and three weeks later they were out 'camping'. Eddie had come along when Merle said he'd spot him the points. And Paul was no where to be seen because Daryl hadn't invited him. He'd avoided any of their usual meet ups and planned to apologize for the radio silence later. After the trip was over and there was no chance of Merle running into him.

Merle knew his brother well enough to know Daryl wouldn't ask. Which was why they were set up about four miles out from the Hilltop. Merle picked the spot. Said it was 'scenic'. All to force the issue.

Day after they got their little camp set up, tent and make-shift string fence around it and all, Merle headed out to hunt for breakfast. He came back two hours later with Paul. His hair was tied up in a bun and he was carrying a basket with what looked like some apples and maybe a pear or two. Something else wrapped in paper. He was dressed in cargo pants and a loose shirt.

Merle couldn't have known that was the guy Lizbet had been talking about. Unless Merle had somehow brought Daryl up to the people of the Hilltop and Jesus had overheard and-

"...harvest looks like it'll be good right now," Paul was saying, speaking very politely as he followed Merle into camp. "Assuming the weather this summer doesn't get too dry, we should be able to bake some fresh loaves of bread on a more regular basis starting in a couple months. We'll need to store most of it for the winter, of course. But that can wait."

Daryl glared at his brother and Eddie stood to one side with eyes narrowed. Merle grinned at them both and waved, "Well good morning to you, too. Rabbit I went tracking led me on a merry chase to the walls of the Hilltop and I thought it would be neighborly to say hello. They were kind enough to send me off with something to make up for my lost breakfast and _Jesus_ ," Merle made no effort to hide his laughter over Paul's nickname, "here volunteered to carry it back for me when I said I had some friends with me."

Of course he had. Jesus was making sure the Saviors camping close weren't going to be trouble. What better way than to get one of them to lead him right to where they'd set up.

"Hello," he nodded first to Eddie, then to Daryl. His smile turned more genuine. Honest. He was really happy to see Daryl. "It's good to see you again."

If he reacted badly at all to the way Daryl winced at the greeting and pinched the bridge of his nose, Daryl didn't see it. He wish he'd worked out some way of signaling Paul to shut the hell up and act like they didn't know each other. Especially since Merle was smart enough to work out what that meant.

"Again?" Merle's smile turned mean. He was going to make Daryl's life hell for the next week. "Well, now. How did you two meet?"

"Ain't important," Daryl cut in, stomping over to take the basket from Paul. "You can go back home. Now."

"No, no!" Merle protested, moving through the camp to pass an apple to Eddie and give him a wink before he turned back around. "He can stay if he wants to. We're all friends here."

His brother ignored the glare he shot him over his shoulder, but Paul caught on that there was something wrong and started to step away, "It's okay. I can go and let you enjoy your-"

Merle wasn't having it though and sat down, slapped the seat next to him on the log they'd pulled around, "Sit a spell! You walked all the way back here with me. Least we can do is offer you the same hospitality you offered me. Come on, now. Let's get to know each other."

Paul shot him an apologetic look when Daryl did the same. Then he moved over to take a seat. Not on the same log as Merle, but the one opposite. Daryl joined him and started sorting through the basket while Eddie came around to claim the spot next to Merle. It wasn't long before Merle started to needle Paul with increasingly intrusive questions that had Daryl shouting at him to shut up and Eddie looking more and more disenchanted with the trip. And with Merle.

Eventually it got to the point that Daryl stood up, grabbed his bow, and knocked Paul on the shoulder, "C'mon, taking you home."

Paul followed while Merle laughed his ass off behind them. He stayed quiet until they'd walked about a half mile in silence. Then he said, "Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"S'okay," Daryl muttered, shrugging.

"No, it's not," he insisted. "Look, I know I was pushing it when I helped with that herd. I don't think it was wrong, but... I shouldn't have pushed it here. I just... just thought it was nice to see you again. You've been MIA for a few weeks now. I was worried."

He felt bad about that and nodded, hefting his bow a little higher and wrapping his hands around the strap, "Yeah. I know. Merle... he wanted to meet you. I was tryin' to avoid it."

"Why?"

"'Cause of the shit he pulled back there."

Paul shook his head, looking genuinely confused, "What shit? The questions? That didn't bother me."

"Yeah, but... he thinks we're doing stuff."

"Aren't we?"

"No," Daryl said a little harsher than he meant to. He felt his face heating up and his shoulders hunched as he tried to keep his gaze anywhere but Paul. "Not the... stuff he thinks we're doin'."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Paul work that out and cast a glance behind them before laughing, "He thinks we're having sex?"

Daryl coughed and nodded. Paul answered that with another laugh, "Why would he think that?"

"One'a them people I was with back at the herd, Lizbet, she thought you were un... tryin' ta flirt with me."

"Oh. I guess that's not surprising, then. I was flirting."

It took Daryl a second to register that before he turned and punched Paul in the shoulder. Paul laughed more, reaching up to hold it with a soft 'ow'.

"Ain't funny."

"It is, too." He said, moving to elbow Daryl lightly. "I did it on purpose, you know."

"Yeah," Daryl muttered, still blushing and trying to make it go away. Paul flirted with him all the time. He recognized it for what it was. But it was also harmless flirting. Friendly. No pressure. He didn't put a lot of thought to it anymore. It just was.

"I wasn't sure it would work."

"Maybe if you hadn't gone so over the top..."

"It was being over the top that made it work."

Daryl let out a puff of disbelief that earned him another light elbowing before Paul turned serious, "I didn't know you'd be here with him. I just thought I'd find out how many were nearby."

"Yeah, I figured," He answered, sighing. "You shouldn't do that. It's dangerous. Merle ain't the worst of people, but he'da still laughed if Eddie decided he wanted to give you a beatin' before letting you go back. And if that happens when I'm around and there's enough of them... I cain't stop 'em."

Paul dropped his head and reached out to rest a hand on Daryl's arm, rubbing it lightly. Like he was trying to be reassuring, "I know. Have to keep up appearances."

"I'm sorry."

"I know. I'm not mad at you."

There was a long silence filled only with the crunch of grass and leaves under their feet and the warmth of Paul's hand on his arm. Daryl could probably have let that stand. Let the words linger between them. But Paul was his friend. The only one he really had aside from Merle and Merle had his own issues.

"Feels like you should be," he murmured.

Paul smiled softly, that bittersweet one of his and shook his head, "But I'm not. I understand. I know what's at risk for you."

"Gotta be out here for the next week or so," he offered up, trying to change the subject. "Can't really get away from Merle, but... if you wanted to come out for a little while. If you ain't got nothin' else you're doin'..."

"I'm leaving on a run tomorrow," Paul answered with a sigh. His hand still hadn't left Daryl's arm and now started to travel down it. Fingers tracing over his skin slowly before going back up almost absentmindedly. "Gregory wants me to take someone since the dead are more active now that it's warmed up. Alex has been insisting he should go."

"You don't want him to?" Daryl was pretty used to hearing about the fights Paul and Alex had. It wasn't surprising anymore. But usually Paul was open to Alex trying to make up with him.

Paul shrugged, sighed again, shook his head, "We've been doing this for months, Daryl. Practically since we both made it to Hilltop. It's nice to have someone. But I'm... I'm not good at this. I'm always gone and he can't stand it. But he can't do what I do, either. He's tried. He's gone out with me. Three times. And each time he just-"

"Nearly got himself killed, lost the truck full of rice, and..." Daryl squinted, trying to remember what had gone wrong on the last one.

"Dropped our backpack down a ravine while running from the dead instead of waiting where I told him to," Paul finished, exasperated. "He would have been fine if he'd left the door shut until I got done, _like I told him to_ , but he had to open it up to check on me. You know we were scheduled for three days on that one and I had to spend two of them climbing down to get the bag and then finding a way back up when it started raining and the whole thing flooded? He nearly died because he couldn't stay put and _I_ nearly died for that backpack. And all Alex could do was stand there yelling down at me to hurry up. I mean, I get it, not everyone can do this and that's okay. It is. But he keeps insisting we do it _together_ when he knows he's better as an acting nurse. And it's just... just so _exhausting_ sometimes."

Paul's fingers found their way back down Daryl's arm and slid into his hand. They threaded through his fingers, slotting between without a fight. He leaned in after, to rest his head on Daryl's shoulder while his own dropped and he rolled his eyes skyward to look up through the canopy. Daryl squeezed his hand and kept walking. Leading them both so Paul could have his moment.

"Maybe I should just leave today and get a head start."

"He'll be mad when you get back."

"He's always mad when I get back," Paul muttered, eyes dropping to glare at the ground before softening as he turned them to look up at Daryl, beard scratching Daryl's shoulder. "Do you think I'm over-reacting?"

He wanted to shrug, but it would have jostled Paul, so he just shook his head and bit at his lip before answering, "Nah. You don't wanna see him get killed doin' something stupid and he ain't really tryin' to learn how ta do it right. Not from what you've told me. You got every right to worry."

"I think I want to end it. With him."

"If you think the break'll do any good."

Paul shook his head and lifted it, leaving Daryl's shoulder feeling chilled for a moment. He pulled his fingers out of Daryl's and ran them back up his arm before letting his hand drop away. He shook his head again, firmer this time, before he crossed his arms and sucked in a deep breath, "I mean for good. We've been doing this for so long and... I just... I don't think I can anymore. I don't think he's wrong to be mad at me, either. But I'm the best scout we have. I can't just stop doing it and spend all my time with him. And I wouldn't want to. I like getting out from behind the walls. I like being out here. At this point, I think the sex might be all we have in common."

Daryl grunted and dipped his head. Sex was not something he did a lot of talking about. Paul being frank with it was always a little uncomfortable. He did his best to cover that, though. It wasn't like Paul talked about it the way Merle did. He brought it up when it was relevant and didn't get into details.

Paul looked over at him and this time Daryl shrugged. He wasn't good with relationship advice. He'd never had one in his life. And what talks he'd had about them prior to meeting Paul were always with the men in his family. And those usually devolved into how to get the most pussy for the least amount of effort. But Paul looked like he needed him to say something, so he did.

"Could think about it while you're on the run, I suppose."

Paul frowned, but nodded, "Yeah. I think I need some space. It'll help me clear my head." Then he looked back at Daryl and smiled, "Thanks. For listening."

Daryl smiled back, a little shyer, "Thanks for puttin' up with Merle."

 **...**

"Why the hell we diggin' a grave anyway?" Daryl muttered, annoyed as his shovel got stuck in the roots of the tree they'd been told to dig it under. Nearly a week after they'd gotten back from their 'vactation' and they'd been hauled out middle of the day to dig a grave. Negan never cared about graves. "And why're we the only ones doin' it?"

Negan and Simon and the others, they stood about thirty feet away in a loose circle. There was a round of laughter that ran through them and cigarettes were being passed around. It was just him and Merle doing the heavy work as the sun started to make it's way toward the horizon, bathing the clearing in purple.

"I don't know," Merle answered just as annoyed. Then stopped and tossed his shovel to the side, "This is good enough. A body'll fit fine."

"It's shallow," Daryl argued, not sure if that would go over well with Negan.

Merle ignored him and turned around to shout, "It's done!"

Negan hopped off the back of the truck he'd been sitting on and walked over with a spring in his step, Lucille swinging at his side. He stopped at the edge of the hole and leaned forward, face stretched in a mock-judging manner. Theatrical and over the top. It pulled a few laughs from the others, but just made Daryl's skin crawl.

After a few moments, he nodded, looking satisfied, "Good enough. Come on back to the truck, boys, we got us a body to haul."

Daryl threw Merle a questioning glance and Merle met it with a confused shrug. There hadn't been any bodies in the truck when they'd made their way out here and neither of them had seen one brought in. But maybe they'd been too engrossed in the digging to see it. Or maybe there would be one soon? Merle was the first to follow and Daryl fell into step right after him. They came up to the truck where Negan was digging around inside like he was looking for something.

"Well shit," Negan declared once they were a few feet from the tailgate. He clicked his tongue and turned around, then hopped off the truck again. Lucille went to his shoulder. "I plum forgot. There ain't no body in there."

A snicker ran through the others. Daryl knew something had been off about the order to dig a grave, but now he knew something else was up. Merle stiffening at his side said he finally realized it, too.

His brother gulped and tried to fake a smile, a laugh, "Then I guess we got nothin' more to do here, boss. Might as well head back home."

Negan's face scrunched up and he hissed a breath in through clenched teeth, "Not quite. Not... quite." Another sucked in breath and he turned quickly, Lucille thudding into Merle's chest, "Because there _will_ be a body. I just haven't decided which one of yours it's going to be."

All around them the sound of guns cocking rang like a chorus. Daryl's hands were up in the air before Merle's. He already knew the drill and sure enough, within seconds hands were patting him down and pulling his weapons away. Merle got the same treatment next to him.

"Shouldn't you be on your knees?" Negan asked after the search was over.

Merle was the first to bend, to kneel. It took Daryl a little longer to process it, eyes scanning the group circling them. The faces of people he'd thought of, well not really as friends, but guys he could be friendly with, grinning at him and his impending death like it was the main attraction at a circus. When his eyes met Negan's he stared, knowing he looked like he felt. Betrayed. But his eyes broke contact first and as they dropped, so to did Daryl. Once he was on his knees, he let his hands fall. No point in keeping them up.

One of them was going to die and with how much Merle had risen through the group, it was going to be him. Merle was the one Negan liked. Merle was the one that did as he was told. Merle was the one that-

"-stole five bags of crystal from the storehouse!" Negan declared, cutting through Daryl's thoughts. "I can _not_ believe you did that, Merle! I can _not_ believe you fucking did that to _me_! After everything I've done for you and your brother! I didn't have to provide you with the drugs. I could have forced you to suffer getting clean. I could have even made you work for points just to get it. But I _didn't_! I _rewarded_ you. Loyal service gets _rewarded_. But that wasn't enough for you. You _stole_ from me."

Daryl's eyes found his brother, but Merle wasn't looking back. He was staring at the ground. Every word hitting him but he didn't let it show. Not in a way anyone else there would recognize. It was the way he used to take the belt from their daddy before Merle ran away to join the Marines. The way Daryl had never been able to once that belt started falling on his back a few weeks after.

His eyes turned to Negan once again to find him pacing slowly in front of them, shaking his head, "I could have put up with one bag. Maybe. It'd have gotten you the Iron, but I could have put up with it. But _five fucking bags_? After all I've done for you? That's half our goddamn stock and you aren't the only one who gets the _privilege_ of me making sure they're hooked up. That shit's hard to find anymore. That shit's like motherfucking _gold_ now, son!"

"Kill me," Daryl heard his voice say, quiet, pleading. He straightened up, and met Negan's eyes again as the man cocked his head in surprise. "If you gotta take someone, take me."

"Well I'll be damned," he grinned, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. So big it was all Daryl could see in what little sunlight was still left. "The little shitheel _can_ be trained."

He turned to the group, arms wide and met with laughter, "Look at that, boys! He's begging like a little bitch! Ain't it just about damn time?"

"Shut up, Daryl," Merle growled and Daryl turned to look at his brother.

He shook his head, "Nuh uh. If he needs blood, he can have mine."

"Well unfortunately for you," Negan interrupted, moving in and leaning down so he could look between them. He had the satisfaction of Daryl flinching at the sudden closeness, dropping his eyes and turning his head away and Merle doing his best to avoid eye contact. "-that's not for you to decide. And I haven't decided yet which would be the better deal."

He stood up and started his pacing again, "See, it's a right damn toss up here. Do I kill you," he pointed at Daryl with Lucille, "to punish him," she swung over to Merle, "who, while having fucked up in a _major_ way, has done so much for me. Or do I kill you as an example to the rest of the boys?" He let Lucille fall to his side again, shaking his head. "It's a real dilemma. Anyone got any ideas which would serve me better?"

Negan spread his arms and looked to the men standing around them, "Simon?"

"I think Merle's the better kill," he answered without hesitation. "He's loyal enough, sure, but if he's willing to steal when he can get what he wants just by doing his job, that's a real problem. Men like that'll try it again once they think no one's looking."

"Good point. Good... What about you?" Negan looked to Fat Joey and the man glanced down at Daryl and Merle, looking a little flustered.

"I think it should be Daryl. Merle's always done what he should and just needs a little motivation to get him back on the right track. But Daryl's always been trouble. He takes too long to do what he's told and he acts like he's better than everyone. No one really likes him. He won't be a loss."

When he spoke, the words came out like they'd been rehearsed. Daryl had already figured out this was all planned, but he knew then that whoever was dying was already decided. And it had to be him. He wasn't worth half of what Merle was to Negan. Merle was the one that like his job. For the most part. He was the one that could get by in this world. Better than Daryl. This world was made for men like Merle.

Men like Negan.

Daryl's shoulders slumped and he didn't bother shutting his eyes as Negan's boots came into view, standing squarely in front of him. He could no longer hear the words the man was saying. Just a lot of noise that didn't matter anymore. He was going to die and Merle would live.

Lucille swung upwards and he waited, head bowed, for the blow to come.

The sound she made when she came down was going to haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. Negan's feet twisted, toes spinning to the side to point towards Merle right before the sick crunch echoed in Daryl's ears and something hot splashed against his face. He was unable to move, unable to think, unable to feel anything in his shock until the bat came down a second time.

The sound that left him was like a dog squealing and whimpering as it got kicked. High pitched and animalistic. Tearing from his throat, making it feel raw with how loud it was. Arms came up under his and pulled him back while he kicked out, and trying to grab at Merle. Trying to throw himself in front of the bat as it came down a third time, finally splitting Merle's head open where it lay on the ground. The insides burst like a puss bubble, blood flying up with bits of skin and bone being pulled along by the barbs wrapped around Lucille. Negan didn't stop at three. He didn't stop at four or five. He kept going until he hit ten and there wasn't enough left of Merle's head to even try piecing it together.

Daryl had gone slack in his captor's arms at six, blubbering and crying. His voice quieted with each sob and painful 'no'. By nine he wasn't making a sound at all. He was just sitting there watching. His arms had already been released at that point, but someone had a fist full of his vest just in case he was playing possum. He wasn't. He'd gone numb the way he eventually did when the belt had gotten to be too much. Mind still there, still able to function, but the pain somewhere far away from him. Where he could hold it at bay and try to forget about. Pretend it never effected him. Pretend it didn't hurt. Pretend his heart hadn't just been ripped from his chest.

Merle was gone.

What was the point in feeling anything?

"Oh she was thirsty tonight," Negan laughed, lifting Lucille to look her over as the headlights of the cars around them started coming on. He turned to face Daryl, a mocking look of sympathy painting his features as he approached. "I'm real sorry I had to do that. You understand why I did, though, don't you?"

Daryl looked up at him, blinking slowly. Mind hazy as he fought through the numbness to figure out if he should respond.

A frown creased Negan's brow and he squatted down, "I said, you understand why I did that, don't you?"

That was a yes, then. Daryl blinked again and nodded.

The frown was replaced with a smile, "Of course you do. Now, why don't you get up, get your brother buried, and then we'll head back home and have a nice long chat about what we're going to do with you." Negan punctuated the 'you' with a poke to Daryl's chest with the bloody end of Lucille, stamping his shirt red.

It took Daryl a few moments to get up. He sat there breathing, feeling a few last tears trickle down his face. He didn't know where they were coming from because he couldn't feel the pain of loss anymore, but he could feel their cold sting in the coolness of the night air. He wiped his sleeve across his face and then his fingers pressed in against the inner corners of his eyes to clear them away. Standing took no effort at all after that.

Merle was a heavy son of a bitch even missing his head. He'd been eating good and keeping himself in shape despite his habits. Daryl chose to drag him by his ankles to the side of the grave and the haul wasn't an easy one. Once he got his brother lined up with the side of it, a couple feet away, he rolled him over and checked his pockets. Pulled out the lighter and cigarette case he'd had stuffed in one and put them in his own. The other was empty. Merle never had much that was definitively his own except that stupid wristband he kept around his right wrist. That came off, too, before he finished rolling the body into the hole they'd dug. The last thing they did together.

Daryl had known Negan had a sick sense of humor. Having them dig their own grave was just par for the course at this point. It still sucked royally to have to be the one to fill it in. To have to be the one to bury his brother. To have that be his last memory of him. Each scoop of earth he shoveled over Merle, he did his best to push that pain further and further from him. Lock it away. Forget he ever felt it. Let the numbness take over.

The last pile of dirt was dropped almost an hour later. No one helped him, of course. Even if anyone cared to - which he knew wasn't the case with how all of them had been laughing it up - they wouldn't have been allowed to. Or hell, maybe they would have if only to make the whole process go faster. Depended entirely on Negan's mood.

Daryl picked up both shovels and headed back to the truck. He tossed them inside the bed then made to climb in. Negan's hand on his chest stopped him with one foot already up. He had to slide backwards to get steady, stand waiting.

"Not so fast," Negan sing-songed, smiling still as the rest of the group started to pack into their cars and get ready to head out. "We can have that talk when we get back. But first, you have to do something for me."

The man leaned in close to Daryl's ear and whispered like he was speaking to a lover, low and intimate. But there wasn't any kindness to it. There never had been.

"Kneel."

For the first time, Daryl didn't hesitate.


	5. Crossroads

"Savior at the gates!" Kal gasped out, looking like he'd run with fire licking at his heels. Gregory stood up behind his desk and sucked in a deep breath. He exchanged glances with Jesus, but got nothing more than wide-eyes and worry in response. As far as anyone knew, their last tribute had been perfect. Nothing missing and no 'special requests' just to fuck with them.

Gregory, rubbed at his neck before waving, "Well, let them in."

Kal shook his head, "It's not 'them', sir. It's just one Savior. He's asking for Jesus."

Daryl. The name was on the tip of Jesus' tongue and he only barely held it in as he nodded to Gregory and thanked Kal. Then he was moving, not at a run, but at a fast walk. He didn't want to make the rest of the Hilltop as paranoid and worried as Kal obviously was. The short walk to the gates still felt incredibly slow and far too long. He couldn't know for sure it was Daryl, but other than Merle and maybe that other guy on the camping trip, none of the Saviors knew him by name.

The guards started opening the gates when Jesus was about twenty feet away and sure enough, behind them sat Daryl on a motorcycle. Not his motorcycle, but a different one. The handlebars were much higher and the profile was thinner. A chopper of some sort at Paul's best guess based on what little he knew about them. Enough to hotwire one in an emergency, but little else than what Daryl had explained over the last six months they'd gotten to know each other.

"Get on," Daryl ordered before Jesus had time to say anything. Kal was jogging behind him and cast him a fearful look. No one else in the colony knew who Daryl was. Or rather, no one knew what he looked like. Jesus had told Alex about him. Not in detail, but that he'd met someone from another settlement that he sometimes met up with while on runs and got some help out from.

Usually Jesus would have asked Daryl what was going on. He would have stood there and tried to get the man to speak to him. But something was very off about him at the moment and he got the feeling delaying things, even just to get his coat and hat, wouldn't be appreciated. Nor would they be helpful in trying to figure out what was up.

He made a gesture to Kal to stand down as he headed over to the bike and called out, "I'll be back later."

As soon as his hands settled on Daryl's belt, the man had them turned around and barreling down the hill to the pavement. It was faster than Jesus was used to Daryl driving. He leaned in against Daryl's back and tightened his grip. He trusted the man to keep them safe. Normally. But whatever had gotten into him it was making him reckless.

Daryl drove and drove and Jesus lost track of where they were as the bike ducked in between derelict cars and coasted around the stray walker or two. Some of the roads were ones he recognized, but many were new. It felt like Daryl didn't really have a destination in mind. He was just driving to drive. What he needed Jesus for to do that, Jesus didn't know. He shut his eyes and dropped his head against Daryl's shoulder. Let his weight settle heavily against him and squeezed his middle. Both to try and offer some form of comfort and to remind his friend he was still there. Jesus was more than a little worried that he'd forgotten.

They came coasting to a stop about an hour and a half later, based on the position of the sun. It felt like it had been longer, but that could have been entirely due to how fast Daryl had been going and how quiet he was even has he cut the engine. His head was dropped forward and he sat there. Just sat there. Feet on either side of the bike, arms limp and hands resting on the seat in front of him, holding Jesus up where he still laid against his back.

Jesus turned his head so his chin was sitting on Daryl's shoulder and he could tilt to look at the man's profile. Where there'd been anger back at the gates of Hilltop, there was now a blankness. An emptiness to his expression. He sighed and let his head settle back how it had been and relaxed his hold on Daryl's belt. His fingers flexed and stretched before he brought them to rest on Daryl's stomach and started rubbing him there, light circles that Daryl could stop at any time.

They sat there for a while, Jesus watching the shadows start to stretch into late afternoon while Daryl remained quiet. Whatever it was, whatever had gotten to him, the man wasn't going to talk about it. Not without a lot of prying or something to draw him out. Jesus settled on talking about something just to get his voice out there for Daryl to listen to. Bring a sense of normalcy back to him maybe.

"I broke up with Alex," he began, speaking slowly and pulling one hand away from Daryl's stomach settle on his arm. Daryl grunted and Jesus took that as a good sign. He wasn't so lost in himself he wasn't able to understand what was being said to him. So he continued on, giving a bitter laugh, "Actually, if I'm being honest, he broke up with me."

Jesus squeezed Daryl's arm and let his fingers start running up and down it. The action was more to comfort himself than to comfort Daryl, but he figured they could both use what little strength it provided.

"I wasn't going to. I left early so he couldn't tag along and gave it some thought. I talked myself in circles about how this was probably the best I was going to get any time soon and that Alex had been trying so hard to put up with me and my habits. How difficult it was for him to watch me walk out those gates and never know if I was going to come back alive...

"Then I thought about all the good times we've had. Waking up next to him in the morning. Him laying against me while I read aloud because he likes to listen to my voice. This one night when the Ms. Mitchell figured out how to grind our first crop of wheat into flour and the whole colony wasted half of it on a food fight."

Jesus laughed, both sad and happy as he slid his hand down Daryl's arm to twine his fingers through his, "It wasn't that white flour you always saw on tv, but this kind of brown-yellow flour. A lot more grainy, too. It didn't stick quiet as badly as I remember seeing flour do, but... it still coated him and he looked so funny with it in his hair and covering his face. Half his shirt looked like it had been washed in bleach and every movement he took it would float off him like he was a walking dust cloud."

"Sounds like Pigpen," Daryl's voice, soft and almost inaudible, supplied a mental image Paul had trouble placing until he clarified, "From the Peanuts, you know? Kid that was always dirty."

"Yeah," Jesus smiled into his shoulder, nodding just a couple times and having to readjust his position because his own hair got shoved up under his nose. He snorted it out and leaned back to once more rest his head by his chin and get a good look at Daryl's face. It now held a sad smile. But it was something. "Like Pigpen."

He took a deep breath, then pulled back and pulled his hand out of Daryl's. Brought both of them to his back. He thought to let them rest there, but found he was more inclined to start rubbing circles over the dirty vest while he let his thoughts refocus.

"So... Yeah. I talked myself into trying to make it work. I was going to apologize for being absent as much as I have been and promise to try harder. I was even going to ask him to move in with me and see if that helped. We don't share the same space right now and maybe that's been part of the problem. But he didn't give me the chance to do any of that.

"I walked through the gates and as soon as the supplies I'd found were being inventoried he was right there yelling at me. He didn't even wait until we were in private. Just came up to me once the important part was covered and went off about leaving him behind without saying anything. Which, yeah, I knew he'd be mad about. He's always mad when I get back and always has been. But he kept going on and on about how inconsiderate I was. How much he was trying to make things work. How he was doing all the 'emotional labor' and then he told me we were over."

Jesus paused, tilted his head back as he heard a noise and in the next moment recognized the sound of the dead growing closer. Only one or two. Probably drawn by the bike before the engine was shut down. He slid one hand down to Daryl's waist and pulled a knife free. Daryl became more visibly alert at that, but Jesus patted him on the shoulder as he climbed off the bike, "I got it."

There were three dead in total and they went down without a problem. Daryl called out a warning, "Don't do nothin' fancy!" as Jesus approached them which was weird to him, but he figured there was a reason for it. So he kept his 'fancy' moves to a minimum. Knifed the first two in the side of the head, then swept the legs out from the third so it was on the ground and he could smash it's skull in with one good stomp. He wiped his boot off on the pavement before heading back to Daryl and handing the knife off to him. His friend started cleaning it without preamble. Daryl seemed to be coming back to himself.

"So he broke up with me and walked off," he said after a moment, crossing his arms and taking a deep breath. "And I walked back to my trailer. And... I don't really know how to describe it, but I just felt so... relieved. I'd been so tense and stressed out about what I was going to say, what I was going to do and he didn't let me get any of that out and it just... it felt good. Like I was off the hook from... from something I'd just been forcing myself to do. And I guess I kind of was."

"He try to talk you into starting over again?" Daryl asked.

Jesus smiled and shook his head, "No. Not yet. I'm sure he will when he realizes I'm not going to come to him, but I'm not going let him talk me into it. I like having someone, but there are other people out there. I just have to find them."

Daryl looked up at him, meeting his eyes as he slid the now-clean knife back into it's sheath and sat up to stuff his rag back where it belonged in his back pocket. Jesus wanted to lean forward and cup his face in his hands, press a kiss to his forehead, his cheek, his lips. He wanted so much more than he knew Daryl could give him. His friend was still figuring things out, still new to his feelings. Still getting a handle on accepting himself. He recognized it and he wasn't going to push. The rules of the old world no longer binding them didn't mean instant acceptance of something he'd been fighting his whole life just to survive.

But when Alex broke up with him, part of the relief of being off the hook was that he was't going to have to work at hiding how he felt about Daryl anymore. Well, not to Alex anyway. Daryl knew it. He'd never hidden it from him. But Alex had a jealous streak and half of Jesus' efforts in that direction had been reassuring Alex he wasn't going to leave him for someone else. And he never intended to. Or rather, hadn't intended to. Alex cutting things off meant Jesus didn't have to worry about that anymore. As long as Jesus stayed firm on his decision not to go back to Alex. He could just let himself feel attracted to other men without feeling guilty over 'betraying' his boyfriend.

Jesus reached out to touch Daryl's shoulder and Daryl followed the action with his eyes. He didn't flinch. He'd gotten used to Jesus touching him, trusted he wouldn't hurt him. Jesus let his fingers rest there for a second, then pushed lightly, "Hey."

Daryl looked back up at him, brow creasing in confusion and eyebrows lifting.

"Why'd you kidnap me for mid-day motorcycle ride?" he asked, smiling and tilting his head. Trying to make it easy for Daryl now that his head seemed to be someplace more in the here and now. "Not that I'm complaining, the meeting I was having with Gregory was going no where. But..."

"Just needed to get out," Daryl shrugged, ducking his head and letting his gaze move away from Jesus and to the gas tank. He started picking at the edge of the gas cap with a thumbnail. When he continued his tone was bitter, "Got a '...promotion' yesterday. Negan gave me today and tomorrow off to 'celebrate'."

There was obviously more to it, but Daryl needed to broach the topic on his own. Jesus could only give him the opportunity to feel safe doing it. He tapped his finger on Daryl's shoulder then stepped closer and moved to rub his back again, "Why don't we head back to Hilltop? I can show you around. You can have dinner with us and stay over. Head back tomorrow."

Daryl kept his head down, pressed his lips together, then nodded. He jerked his chin toward his back and Jesus took the invitation to climb on behind him once more.

The ride back was less frantic and far more enjoyable. Daryl kept the speeds lower and slowed down through when weaving through the wrecks. Jesus felt safe enough to sit up and get a look at where they were going. It still took a while to get back to territory he recognized, but he'd remember the route later. It was a new area to try and scrounge for salvage and supplies and the roads were clear enough to get to it with a little work. He might need to try and move a couple cars in some of the pile-ups, but that was something he could take his time with over several days if he had to.

Daryl drove them right up to the gated and shut his engine down as Jesus climbed off. Kal was back up on the watchtower and he waved to him, "Open up. He's coming inside." Then he turned to Daryl and gestured towards the gates, "You can park your bike inside if you want."

"You got a garage?" he asked, getting up and starting to push.

"Sort of. It's near the back. There's an old pavilion we shored up the roof on you can put it under. It should be fine there."

They were met with apprehensive stares as soon as they stepped inside. Jesus flashed a smile as an attempt to reassure the people of his community. A Savior inside the gates wasn't going to go over that well, even if it was just the one. He probably should have thought the invitation to come inside through a little more. No one else knew Daryl as well as he did.

Gregory came down from the house as Jesus was leading Daryl off. He slowed to a stop and called out for one of the people standing there staring, Jessica, to show his friend where the parking was. Daryl cast him a questioning glance but he waved a hand and said, "I'll be along in a minute. Gregory needs to talk to me."

Daryl lifted his chin and went to follow Jessica. From the way she looked as she spoke he guessed Daryl was being extra polite. She was tense, but a more genuine smile started to flutter across her lips.

"Jesus!" Gregory hissed in a low voice, overly cautious about making sure it wouldn't carry to Daryl's ears. "What's going on? You didn't pull anything stupid did you?"

"Are you okay?" Alex came up in a hurried rush, stopping right next to Gregory and completely ignoring their leader's presence.

"I'm fine," Jesus chose to address Alex's question first, then move his attention to Gregory. "Nothing bad happened. Daryl's just going to have dinner with us and stay the night. He'll be gone in the morning. No one's in trouble."

"Daryl?"

Jesus' eyes flicked over to Alex and he braced himself, already seeing the worry melt away into confusion with anger and hurt fast on it's heals. Whatever he was going to say was delayed by Gregory.

"You want us to host him? We've had no time to prepare for a Savior visit."

"He's not going to take anything with him. He's just here to... to have a break."

"A break?" Alex interjected, voice raising a bit too high for either Jesus' or Gregory's liking.

Gregory shot the man a disgruntled look, "Keep your voice down. You don't want him overhearing and deciding one of us has to die."

"He's not going to kill anyone!"

"Of course he won't. We'll be on our best behavior so he has no reason to."

Jesus put his hand to his forehead and rubbed it, "That's not what I meant, Gregory. Daryl's not going to kill us because he's not like that. He's not here as a Savior. He's here as a friend."

"Of course, of course," Gregory nodded, and it wasn't rocket science to tell he thought Jesus was spinning a line that everyone would need to tow. Jesus really should have thought this through better.

"A friend?" Alex hissed and stepped closer. He reached out, trying to grab Jesus' arm and Jesus shifted so his hand fell short. It earned him a frustrated grunt and Alex looking around to make sure Daryl was still out of earshot. "He's not a friend, Jesus. He's a Savior. Or did you forget what they did to Rory?"

"I didn't forget. But he's not like that, Alex," Jesus shot back, trying to keep his voice neutral and low.

Gregory's loud, overly-enthused shout interrupted them as he spotted Daryl returning and called out to him, "Ah! There you are! Jesus says you're joining us for dinner."

Daryl side-eyed Gregory and didn't stop until he was just behind Jesus. He looked Gregory up and down, gave a soft grunt, then looked over Alex. Finally, he brought his attention to Jesus and tilted his head, "There someplace we can go that ain't so... " Daryl gestured vaguely, but Jesus understood what he meant.

"Sure," he answered, then pointed toward the line of FEMA trailers, "My place is over there. Why don't you head over and I'll join you in a minute. I just have to finish speaking with Gregory and Alex here."

Daryl's eyes narrowed at Alex's name and he gave the man another look over before he nodded and walked off. Gregory was fiddling with his sleeves, clearly not happy at being ignored, but at the same time pleased that Daryl wasn't trying to take up any time with him.

He looked between Jesus and Alex, and then once more to Daryl's retreating back, before nodding decisively, "Well. Since that's dealt with. I'll leave you to it."

After he walked off, Jesus started to move past Alex. This time his ex caught his arm, "Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"What are you talking about?" Jesus knew it wasn't the whole Savior staying for dinner part. He figured it was-

"You said Daryl was a scout from another community. Not a Savior."

"That wasn't a lie, Alex. The Saviors do have a community of their own."

"That's semantics. You should have told me he was a Savior."

Jesus spread his arms, "And what would you have done if I had? It wouldn't have changed anything. He's not going to hurt me Alex. He's not going to hurt anyone here. He doesn't even like being a Savior."

"Yeah? Then why doesn't he just leave?"

Jesus started at him. It was like Alex was being obtuse on purpose. But he knew from experience this was his jealousy making him see red. Jesus shook his head and dropped his arms. He let out a long sigh. "The same reason we pay tribute to them every week, Alex. Him being on the other side of the tribute doesn't make him any less trapped than we are. Look, I have to go. If you want to yell at me more, you can do it tomorrow. After he's gone."

He didn't wait for a reply, even as Alex tried to call after him in a low tone. He just turned around and walked off, meeting Daryl just short of the line of trailers. Daryl glanced at Alex as he turned in to follow Paul. He stayed quiet, though. Didn't say anything, didn't make any more noise than a soft grunt as Paul pulled open his door and said, "This one's mine."

Once they were both inside, Paul shut the door and lit the the candle lamp. There was decent enough light coming in through the windows, but it only lit from one side and in a couple hours it would be gone anyway. Having a little more light around helped him feel less cooped up when he was mad. He'd have preferred to just turn around and leave the walls entirely. If he hadn't had Daryl there... well, Alex wouldn't have gotten on his case and he wouldn't be so upset in the first place. But he wasn't going to blame Daryl for that. It was his mistake not to give any warning. Not to make it known to everyone that he'd made friends with a Savior.

"I'm sorry about that," he said, crossing his arms tightly. He stood in front of the table and just stared down at it. Forgetting for a moment Daryl hadn't been close enough to hear anything.

Daryl moved past his back and nudged him with his elbow. Flashed him a small smile when he looked up. He tilted his head and shrugged, "S'okay. No reason for your people to trust me. Ain't surprised they're scared. Shouldn't have come inside. I can go, if it'll be easier."

"No," Jesus said immediately. "I said you could stay for dinner and overnight if you wanted. I'm not going to chase you out."

"Okay," Daryl answered, voice going really soft as his eyes dropped. His shoulders hunched slightly, making him look like a child who'd just gotten reprimanded.

Jesus squeezed his eyes shut and stepped closer, reaching out slow enough to give Daryl time to move away before his hand landed on his forearm, "Hey. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to sound like that. I'm not upset at you. Gregory and Alex..."

Daryl's gaze lifted, first to the hand on his arm and then to his eyes, "That was Alex." Not a question.

He nodded, letting his thumb start to rub circles on Daryl's skin.

"He's pretty," Daryl offered, tilting his head. "I mean... you know. Good lookin'. Way you talked about him, I pictured him being... I dunno. Lot uglier."

That was not what Jesus was expecting to hear and a laugh bubbled out of him. His head fell forward onto Daryl's shoulder, then he gave his friend a playful shove that had him tossing a teasing smile his way.

"Ain't my fault you suck at describing people," he continued on as Jesus brought his hand to his mouth to try and stifle the noise. He didn't want it to carry too far.

"Stop," he begged Daryl between the laughs, "That's so mean."

Daryl pfft'd at him and spread his arms, "Ain't never said I was nice."

Jesus laughed a little longer before sobering up. He leaned against one of the chairs and his expression softened, "You didn't have to."

The expressions that passed over Daryl's face went from playful to surprised, to something he couldn't quiet read, and then to shy. He smiled a smile he couldn't quite fight off well enough and ducked his head. Let his hair fall into his face, hiding behind it. Fidgeted a bit with his fingers while Jesus just looked at him.

He was moving before he realized what he was doing, but by the time he had one hand on Daryl's face he didn't care to stop himself. Daryl trusted him and didn't pull away from his touch as he guided Daryl's head forward and down so their lips could meet in a gentle kiss. Jesus shut his eyes and pressed in, not forceful, just firm. He could feel Daryl freezing up, going stiff. Giving no response.

Or rather, that was his response. Jesus' eyes opened and he stepped back. Let his hand drop and his head, too. He gulped. He hadn't meant to scare Daryl.

"Sorry," he murmured, moving further away. "I shouldn't have done that."

Daryl didn't answer. When Jesus looked back at him, he was still just standing there, looking lost. Jesus waited. Tried to wait. But as the minutes seemed to stretch on and Daryl didn't do anything, he had to move back. He had to check on him as he realized he'd royally screwed up with that.

"Daryl?" he whispered, his hand reaching out and hovering just short of touching the other man. He hesitated, wanting Daryl to react. It didn't even matter how. Rage at him, push him away, walk out. Just... something. When it still didn't come, he finally pushed his fingers forward to press softly into Daryl's arm. "Daryl... I'm sorry. I won't do that again."

Daryl's head snapped up with a sudden intake of breath. He gulped hard as his body started to shake. He blinked several times like he was trying to clear his vision. His jaw hung open for a bit until he pulled it shut and held it tightly. His shoulders came up again, but he didn't look away from Jesus.

"Daryl?"

He dropped his head at that and stepped forward into Jesus' space. He didn't try to do anything, initiate a hug or push him away. But the top of his head bumped Jesus' shoulder as if apologizing. It stayed there and Jesus took the invitation to lift his arms up and wrap them loosely around his friend.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Jesus murmured into his hair. "I should have asked first."

Daryl sucked in a shaky breath and Jesus went quiet, waiting for him to speak or do something. It took him a little while more before he heard a hard gulp and then a soft and gruff, "I ain't never... I didn't... It weren't bad."

A sigh of relief left Jesus and he let his arms wrap a little tighter. Let his nose get buried in Daryl's neck for a moment. "I won't do it again. I'm sorry."

"Don't gotta do that."

The words caught him by surprise. He almost thought he was hearing things, even, until Daryl pulled back from him and met his eyes before dropping them shyly. They moved down to stare at his lips before darting back up. Jesus had never been an expert at body language, but he knew when a guy was asking silent permission to kiss him.

He smiled at Daryl and nodded his head, then tilted it to the side to make it easier. Daryl hovered, unsure of himself and Jesus brought one hand up to his neck. He pulled his friend forward in a hold that was easy to break if he wanted to. But Daryl didn't. He let himself be tugged in and their lips came into contact once again. Daryl still froze up, scared, uncertain. But this time Jesus didn't pull back. He kept the pressure light and continued to kiss, mouth moving softly to encourage Daryl. And eventually Daryl started to respond in kind.

It was a terrible kiss. Worst Jesus had ever had. But he never wanted it to end.


	6. The Broken Road

_Jesus shook his head, "I can't check all the rooms, it'd go too slow. We'd need to find where the single rooms are. He gets his own. That'll narrow it down some. And he... He has a vest. I haven't seen any other saviors wear one like it. It's a black biker vest with angel wings covering the whole of the back. He's not going to be wearing it when he sleeps, but if he keeps his room anything like when he stays over, it'll be hanging on a chair or on a table so he can grab it when he gets dressed."_

 _"You're sure no one else has a vest like that?" Glenn asked, making a note on the map as a reminder._

 _"Positive."_

 **...**

Daryl woke up next to Paul. He was on his back like he usually slept, but Paul was curled into his side. His back was to him, just pressed up against him in a way that made stretching his arm out on that side difficult. He had to settle for stretching it up instead of out to get the kinks out, before letting it come to rest along Paul's side, hand light on the man's hip.

He let his thumb rub absently into the jeans Paul was wearing, smoothing out a wrinkle in the cloth and forming new ones. It was a nice sensation, getting to touch the other man like that. Getting to sleep next to someone without feeling like he had to be on his guard the whole night. Granted, it helped that Paul's bed was a twin and there wasn't a lot of space for stretching out in the first place. But it was still nice.

When Daryl had invited him to kiss him a second time the day before, he wasn't sure what Paul would want to try and do. And he wasn't sure what he'd be ready to try and do. But Paul hadn't tried anything more than kissing. He'd pulled Daryl into it and let him figure out what felt good. All those make-out sessions in the movies and the grab-ass his brother and father had always done made him think he had to be ready to go right then and there. But Paul hadn't expected it at all. They just kissed.

And kissed.

And _kissed_.

And touched a little. Only a little. Paul kept his hands above the belt. Mostly in his hair and on his neck. Rubbed his shoulders some. But largely he kept it, well... not chaste, but that was the only word that came to Daryl's head to describe it. Because there was no way it was _innocent_. Paul was very clear with how much he wanted Daryl for more than just kissing. He just didn't try to make it go any further than kissing, was all.

Which was probably for the best now that Daryl had a full night's rest to clear his head and reflect on it. He wasn't sure he'd have been comfortable with trying to do more. It was difficult enough to let himself relax enough just to press lips to lips. And when Paul had introduced tongue? That had sent him on another mind-blanking stint of 'what the fuck do I do' that had him freezing up all over again.

Daryl's thumb stilled as Paul made a soft noise in his throat and started to arch his back. He rolled a little, hip pressing into Daryl's as he half-laid on him before realizing he didn't have enough room to really stretch. That seemed to wake him up a little faster and he scooted his ass so their bodies were laying side by side. Daryl pulled his hand away to rest on his stomach so he wasn't touching anything awkward.

Paul turned his head and smiled at him sleepily, "What time is it?"

Daryl shrugged, his other thumb finding it's way to his mouth before he glanced over to the window, "Ain't sure. Usually wake up about a half hour 'fore dawn. Don't got a watch to tell more'n that anymore."

"That's okay," Paul said, now turning onto his other side so he could face Daryl and cuddle up to him. His brought his arm over Daryl's waist and tucked his head against his shoulder. "Before dawn's good enough."

Daryl grunted, keeping his eyes off Paul in an attempt to control the heat rising in his cheeks. He'd never let anyone lay up against him like that. It was weird, but not in a bad way.

"Thanks. For staying."

Daryl frowned and forgot he was trying to avoid looking at the other man, squinted down at the top of his head, "Ain't gotta thank me. You're the one sharin' your bed and food."

"Still... you didn't have to stay."

"...didn't wanna go," he answered softly and Paul shifted his head to smile up at him. A small blush had spread across the younger man's cheeks, but unlike Daryl, he didn't seem to care at all about hiding it.

"Good to know."

Daryl stared for a second before letting out a soft puff of air and turning his face away, suddenly shy and burning up. His attempt at a dismissive 'Whatever' came out like a poorly told joke. Paul's arm tightening around him was the only response he got for a while. Both of them content to just lay there. Snuggling. Fucking _snuggling_.

Universe must have had a hard on for making Daryl's life sad and confusing to have him cuddled up against the best man he'd ever met two days after his brother's head got beat in. He sucked in a shuttering breath at the thought, tears threatening immediately. He didn't want to think about that. He wanted to shove it aside and forget. He wanted to pretend it happened a lifetime ago so he could be over it.

Unfortunately, Paul was so close he couldn't help but catch it. He pushed himself up on one elbow and leaned over to look down at Daryl, frowning with concern, "What's wrong?"

Daryl sucked in a deep breath and shook his head. He brought both hands up to rub at his face, trying to blink away the tears before they could start, "Nothin'."

"Daryl..."

"Ain't nothin' to be done about it," he insisted, another shuddering breath coming in and the tears leaking behind his hands despite himself. He didn't want to be crying. Staying with Paul had been a mistake. He felt _too_ safe. Safe enough that he rolled onto his side, curling into Paul as the sobs broke loose. He didn't want this at all and he couldn't stop it.

Paul's body came down on him, his weight resting atop Daryl and pulling him further against him. There were words being said, but Daryl couldn't make them out. They were soft against his hair and Paul's arms were holding him firmly, rubbing gentle circles into his back. There wasn't any judgement. There was just safety and it made it so much worse. Daryl clung to him like he was the only lifeline he had.

Maybe he was.

He cried for he didn't know how long. But by the time he was done the sun come up, bathing the room with a soft golden glow through the small window at the front of the trailer. Paul's hair looked like honeyed wheat under it's light, the darker browns washed out for a brief moment in time before the light started to shift and the deeper colors that reminded him of tree bark and the richest earth gave it depth once more. He focused on that to help ground himself.

Paul's hand had long since moved to his hair. He brushed through it with gentle strokes that relaxed him and made him tired after all that stupid crying. Paul hadn't asked what was wrong again. He'd fallen mostly silent. Just murmuring 'it'll be okay' every so often and placing a soft kiss to his temple whenever he did.

Daryl reached out across the bare inches that separated his hand from Paul's chest and wrapped his fingers into the other man's shirt. He shut his eyes and tucked his head forward, breaking the spell that had settled over them. He sucked in a deep breath. He spoke.

"He killed Merle."

Paul went still immediately. His hand stopped moving and Daryl focused his gaze on the button his thumb was tapping so he wouldn't be tempted to look upward.

"Day before last. He took us out, had us dig a grave. Put us on our knees. Merle'd... he's always been a fucked up tweaker ever since getting discharged, but he's always been more careful about gettin' it. We ain't even been with Negan a year and he has to go and steal half the meth they got for the addicts in house. Couldn't keep his hands to himself."

Daryl felt the tears start again and his hand became a fist, clinging to Paul's shirt, "It shoulda been me. It shoulda been me in that grave. Not him. It shoulda-"

He broke off as another sob wracked his body, burning his lungs with how hard it came up. Paul pulled him even closer.

"It shouldn't have been either of you," he protested. "It shouldn't have been anyone. You don't deserve to be dead. You don't."

"It shouldn't have been him."

"That doesn't mean it should have been you."

Daryl wanted to disagree. He wanted to keep disagreeing. It always should have been him before Merle if it ever had to be that way. He wasn't worth half of what Merle was. He wasn't worth half of most people. But Paul's words, the conviction behind them, made it difficult to reject them further. Not when he was still reeling and trying so hard to stop his tears. He'd never cried so much in his life. If Merle could see him now, he'd call him a pussy. Tell him to stop acting like a bitch.

But it wasn't Merle talking to him. It was Paul whispering into his hair, repeating his reassurances like a mantra.

 **...**

His promotion came with getting Merle's old room as his own. Sanctuary was to be his base of operations on a more permanent basis.

" _I don't think you've been feeling like this is home_ ," Negan had said as he slung his arm around Daryl's shoulder when they got back to Sanctuary. " _And that's just not right. This_ is _your home, Daryl._ We _are your home. You should feel like it is._ "

He'd been led right back to Merle's room and told it was his now. That he was too valuable to go off alone on scouting missions anymore. That his talents were being wasted on the road. What talents those were, Daryl wasn't sure. All he'd ever had to offer the Saviors besides another body to intimidate the masses was his sense of direction and attention to detail when mapping the roads and herd spotting. It was important work, too. A job he did honestly enough, outside of the favoritism he gave Paul. And none of the Saviors knew anything about that.

Negan put him in with a small group meant to track down and retrieve his property. It wasn't really a promotion. It was a reminder of Negan's authority and a test of loyalty both. Daryl's brother had been given the 'highest honor' of death by Lucille. A reason for him to try and run if he was stupid. Or desperate. So he was tasked with bringing back those that were.

It didn't afford him much time to himself since the first group he was ordered to help find was the entire fucking town of the Temple Hills settlement. Every last woman and child disappeared overnight. The men, every male over ten, Negan had executed in the early summer for an attempt at a coup. Daryl hadn't been a part of it, but he'd heard about it. Everyone had.

Even with his skills at tracking and the others assigned to him, they had a hell of a time finding any traces of passage for such a large group. They could easily have walked the roads in any direction and hidden in buildings for the week following their last drop off without drawing attention to themselves from the patrols. Assuming they'd left that same night. They'd been doing their duty to the Saviors for almost two months before they up and disappeared. There was no telling if they'd been on the run for a week or for a day by the time Daryl rolled into town on Merle's bike, following Lester, who Negan had put in charge. Five trucks were behind them to take whatever was left that was worth taking. Once he and the rest had time to look around.

Negan was technically leading the investigation. Just in case they were hiding somewhere a lot closer and he'd have to order some more violence on those that remained to get his point across even further. But mostly he was just there to glare at his people for not being able to find anything. At least, that's how it ended up being when Daryl and the rest came back with nothing more than the obvious path they took out of town before hitting the streets. No tracks to follow there as long as they kept to the concrete.

Lester had the group split up and follow the road a mile in either direction. Half the group headed north and Daryl followed him and the rest south. He stayed to the back, watching the others work. How they'd drift from the middle of the street to check the sidewalks and then the edges of the road once the sidewalks ended and the street went from residential and into a small commercial district. Every building they passed had to have one of them head in to give a quick sweep. The houses, anyway.

About the only thing that gave them any sense of progress and the hope they were on the right track was the occasional dead walker they found. But even those were hard to tell the time of death on. Being as they'd died months before. For most of them. One of the ones they came across looked pretty fresh. Her skin wasn't as gaunt as the two others she was with. She was just as torn up, but there wasn't a lot of decay to her.

No one else mentioned it when they passed her and Daryl figured it was probably something Lester would bring up with Negan when they got back. He did keep his eyes out for other signs of freshly turned or traces of people passing through and saw a few things that he'd have liked to investigate. But every time he started off to do so, Lester was barking at him to keep up and getting madder at him with every breath.

By the time they got back to Temple Hills, Lester was having a fit. He walked right up to Negan and loudly declared Daryl unfit to run with them.

"He's got no sense of direction and anyone that told you he's observant was lying their asses off to you," he growled out, looking from Negan to Daryl. Daryl returned his hateful glare with one of his own.

Negan looked between them with raised brows, settling his gaze on Lester before he spoke, "Is that right? What did he do then?"

"He kept trying to wander off. Lagged behind and had to be reminded to watch our backs while the rest of us did our jobs, checking buildings and looking for signs of passage. Head seemed to be off in la la land or something because all he kept doing was looking at the dead we passed like it was the first time he'd ever seen them. Gave me attitude the same as he is now the whole time," Lester went on, condemning him. It was the same bullshit Daryl was used to getting even Before. Assumptions made and acted on. And this time it wasn't just whether or not he got to eat someplace without being stared at at stake. It was his life.

"That's bullshit!" he snapped, marching up and pointing at Lester with a snarl. He'd had to bury Merle barely a week past and already another asshole was out to end him. "You wouldn't know a trail sign if it bit you on the ass. Just 'cause you can't tell a fresh biter from an old one don't mean everyone else is blind!"

Negan's hand came between them and Daryl backed off to start pacing, eyes on Lester. Lester was the threat to him. Negan might be the one who killed him, but it'd be Lester that convinced him to.

"Daryl," Negan said, cordial but serious, "Don't you have any fucking manners? Lester was speaking. Once he's said his piece, you can say yours." Negan turned and smiled at the lieutenant and waved, "Continue."

Lester shot Daryl a smug smile before looking back at Negan, "We split into two groups. Since he's new, I took him with mine. We headed south, along the main road. We cleared it of cars when we first found Temple Hills, so there wasn't anything blocking it. An easy path if the people decided to use it. I had the men check each house we passed for any evidence of recent looting or inhabitants. I also had them do a check over of any dead we found for signs of how long ago they may have been killed. We take out most of them every time we come up here, though, so there was no way of really telling anything. And a mile isn't that long of a walk, even for a large group. I wasn't really expecting to find anything. But in case they weren't careful, it could give us an idea of which way they might have gone. Was planning on sending the boys out in groups of two to check further out and start a search and rescue grid sweep. But Daryl was lagging the whole way and costing us time. We shouldn't have taken as long as we did to get back. I'm not saying he's an inexperienced tracker, but it's obvious he's never gone looking for people before. We're very different animals then rabbits and deer."

Negan nodded and looked impressed with Lester's detailed report, then turned his attention to Daryl. He tsked and shook his head, "I gave you a promotion because I trusted you to do the job you were given. That don't sound like you're doing that."

"That asshole don't know what the hell he's talking about," Daryl snarled, his words directed at Negan this time. Going off on Negan wasn't good for his health, but he was too angry to catch himself as he continued his pacing and glaring at Lester. He didn't even notice the sadistic smile that twisted Negan's lips as he railed about the other man. "He ignored two dead bodies we ain't killed and only had one man go inside a house at a time. He didn't even try to have us check the gas stations or the corner stores once we got near the overpass. Half the people here were kids. A mile might not be nothin' to a grown woman, but kids get tired out. Non'a the houses he had anyone check were big enough for the whole group to hole up in, but that hair dresser's sure was. Pretty sure I saw some torn cloth caught on a fence three quarters of the way down, but I don't know if it were from clothes or not 'cause you didn't let me go check. Just called me back and when I tried to say somethin', you told me to shut up and do my job. Well I was tryin' to do my job, Sunshine! You was the one bein' a stupid fuck and ignorin' everythin'! So what if it took us all afternoon to check a whole god damn mile? If you gotta do it, that's what you do!"

By the time it was all out, Negan hovering in front of him was the only thing keeping Daryl from grabbing Lester and punching him. He was shaking too much with no longer suppressed rage. He didn't want to die. He might of been willing to take the bat for Merle, but he didn't _want_ to die. He never had.

Lester sneered at him, "You don't know how to tell a sign worth looking at from one worth ignoring. Does the lack of sense run in your family? That why your brother died?"

Negan had to put him on the ground to stop Daryl from killing Lester right then and there. Simon and someone else Daryl didn't know the name of joined him, holding him down with their weight. He didn't calm down immediately, but Negan's laughter and patting his face once he stilled made the haze of red he'd seen fade enough for him to understand he was in a shit position and had probably just signed his own death warrant.

"WHOA THERE!" Negan laughed, sharing his amusement with Simon before he dropped his head down to try and look Daryl in the eyes. Daryl met them and looked away, letting his body go limp. Negan's smile grew, "You have _got_ to get a hold of that anger problem, Daryl. I like it, but there are _still. Limits_. Hurting one of my men without my permission is not. Going. To. Fly."

Negan grabbed his hair and pushed his head into the concrete with a quick jerk before standing up. A moment later, Daryl was released. But he stayed where he was while he tried to get control over his breathing. It was still heavy and he needed to let it even out. He wasn't dead yet.

Yet.

"Now," Negan declared loudly, leaning back and looking around, "How about we have a look at those things Daryl here thinks are important. If they aren't and he's wasted my time, we'll have a party!" Laughter echoed from all directions as Daryl slowly climbed to his feet. It died when he turned to Lester, pointing Lucille at him, "And if he hasn't, then you and I are going to have a long, long fucking talk."

 **...**

Daryl climbed the chain link fence and straddled it at the top. The piece of cloth he'd caught sight of could have been there for days or hours, but not for weeks. It wasn't trapped all that tightly. It was a thin cotton, stained brown in spots, but overall a cream color. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the old lot the fence surrounded for anything that looked out of place. Negan stood on the ground, Simon on his right and Lester and the others further back. Not only making Daryl the main attraction, but making his nerves run raw.

He wouldn't have even cared about letting the group get away, ignoring what little evidence he'd seen, if Lester hadn't used his own slacking as an excuse to try and get Daryl kicked out. Or worse. He wasn't really sure if the man was going for more than humiliation and a demotion back to some other job. Might still end up getting no where, but it wasn't going to be for lack of trying.

Daryl flipped his leg over and dropped into the lot. He tucked the cloth away and pulled his crossbow off his shoulder. It didn't look like there were any dead about, and the sound of the small crowd should have drawn them out already. Better safe than sorry, though.

He could hear Negan ordering his men to take bolt cutters to the chain on the gate while he moved through the vehicles. He zoned it out and checked each car on the small used lot that he passed by on the way to the main showroom and autoshop. It wasn't a big place, but it was big enough to hold a group overnight without the dead being able to smash any windows in. The glass was too thick and if they'd stayed in the back, where the repairs were done, there wouldn't have been any way for anything to see in.

The main doors were locked when Daryl tried them and he didn't bother to stick around and attempt to force them. If they were locked now, they were probably locked when the group came through. He was going to assume they came through unless he found no further evidence of it. Only way to work when all he had to go on was that torn strip of cloth. Around the side of the building he found three dead walkers piled on top of each other. There was a lot of gravel and enough of it disturbed to expose the dirt below. A partial print, the heel of a boot, was just barely noticeable.

He crouched next to it and and waited until his entourage caught up with him, speaking before Negan could open his mouth, "Got a print. It's hard, dried that way. Anyone know the last time it rained 'round here?"

Negan turned to look at the group and one of Simon's personal flunkies raised his hand, "Four days ago. We had a small storm roll through at the outpost eight miles northwest. It should have hit here, too. Lasted half the night."

"Then they ran four days ago," Daryl declared simply and stood up, moving forward to check the side door. He stopped and put his bow back up before toeing it open, "And they stopped here when it started to rain on them."

He ducked his head forward, sweeping the place for movement and then heading in. There were still cars up on the hydraulics and some tools scattered around in one of the corners. Enough light to see it all once his eyes adjusted. Daryl headed over to where the tools were tossed about and then started back towards the door as Negan came in.

He pointed outside, "They grabbed some of wrenches as weapons and took out the dead on the their way outta here. The shirt probably got caught on the fence when they was leaving. Which meant they headed back that way after waiting out the rain."

"How do you know that?" Negan held out Lucille to stop him, squinting at him with an expression stuck somewhere between suspicious and impressed.

"All the other workstations is cleaned up," Daryl answered, letting his bow dangle loosely in his fingers. "The showroom was locked up, too, and there weren't any mess inside. The lot's clear 'cept for the three dead we just found. Thinkin' they turned after they got over the fence back near the Start. They couldn't get inside or we woulda found 'em inside. Probably been wandering the lot and were looking around for the crowd when they got taken out. The door ta back here was forced and the print was made after the rain was done and the mud hadn't dried yet."

He pulled the cloth out of his pocket and held it up, "This was stuck in the fence. Right where I climbed over. Wasn't hard to take out and it ain't been windy. If it'da been torn off 'fore the rain came, it woulda been on the ground. Water hard enough to make that mud that soft woulda pulled it right down."

Negan nodded along and turned to face Lester, "What do you think?"

"I think he's full of shit," Lester answered. "Anyone could have made that print after the last day it rained. For all we know it's from one or two survivors passing through. Not the people from Temple Hills."

"That's true," Negan shifted his attention back to Daryl. "You think he's wrong?"

Daryl let his glare settle on Lester for a second before he looked back and Negan. His gaze fell before he shook his head. He couldn't honestly say Lester was wrong about that. "He could be right. But we know the Temple Hill folks ran. And we know they ran within the last eight days. We ain't got much else to go on and its more ta go on than he," Daryl looked right at Lester, "was gonna give you an hour ago."

"That is _also_ true," Negan nodded, obviously enjoying the tension between them. Daryl couldn't tell much more than that. Negan's moods weren't the easiest to read. He could be pissed as all hell and still be smiling and laughing like life was one big game.

He pursed his lips before looking over at Simon, "Your boys find anything else when they were clearing out the town?"

"No, sir," Simon answered, cool as a cucumber. He'd been with Negan so long, he probably knew the man better than anyone. But he was just as much as sick fuck as Negan was. He could watch a man get torn open without so much as blinking. Hell, he was just as likely to look bored by it as he was to be entertained.

"Guess if it's all we got, it's all we got," Negan said, sounding entirely too reasonable. The kind of reasonable that was usually followed by someone shooting someone.

"Changed my mind about talk. Daryl, shoot Lester for me, will you? Make it clean. We don't need any more of his god damn messes to clean up," Negan ordered as he pushed past the other man.

Lester looked between Negan's back and Simon and then to the others he'd worked with for months. Every last one was now standing far enough back they'd get minimal blood on them, completely abandoning him just as they'd abandoned Daryl and Merle. There was no real loyalty to each other. Just to Negan.

Daryl waited until Lester turned his gaze to him. The last thing the man saw was his hate-filled stare. The bolt through his eye made sure of it.

...

They never did find the Temple Hills group. The trail was lukewarm at best when Daryl found what little could be found at that used car lot. Anything else was too cold with as many directions they could have gone. Even sending single bikes out to ride the roughly 30 miles they could gave gotten in the four days that had passed didn't do anything to help. Other than a vaguely southward direction they had nothing else to go on and too many roads to check. And not enough gas to do it for long.

Negan wasn't happy about that. Daryl wasn't the one that took the brunt of his anger, though. He was surprisingly happy with Daryl, actually. Even with his inability to track the group further, he didn't catch the blame. The blame was on the outpost that let them disappear in the first place. And who didn't figure out they were gone until so long after that it was damn near impossible to follow.

Daryl wasn't given any reward (except being allowed to live) for what he did, but Negan started giving him assignments directly after that. It used to be they came through Simon or Fat Joey or any other messenger Negan decided to send. Now it was Negan or no one. This afforded him a lot more free time than he was used to and after another two weeks of doing very little but sitting around waiting for orders on 'property' to chase down, Daryl finally went to Negan to ask for a proper day off.

He was apprehensive about it. Worried Negan would take it to mean he wasn't doing enough around Sanctuary to earn his keep. But it'd been almost a month since he'd last seen Paul or heard anything about Hilltop. He could only assume that meant they were keeping the status quo. Just... he didn't know. And he missed the man.

Negan was in his room when Daryl found him. He was on a couch with a notebook in hand, looking very different than Daryl was used to him looking. He'd never been in Negan's room before, either, so seeing it for the first time was a bit of a surprise.

He did his best not to let that show when he spoke, however, "Sorry to bother you. Was jus' wonderin' if I could get a day ta myself. Ain't had one since the promotion."

Negan's lips parted in a curious smile and he raised his eyebrows, "This is what you choose to interrupt me about? A fucking day off?"

Daryl gulped and ducked his head, "Simon said I needed ta ask ya directly." Not strictly true. When Daryl had asked him, Simon had said it was up to Negan, not him, then walked away. He'd never said Daryl had to be the one asking, but Daryl didn't know anyone else he could get to ask for him.

There was a soft click from Negan and Daryl glanced up before dropping his eyes again. The man was leaning forward, had set his notebook down with the pencil on top of it, while looking out the window. He clicked his tongue again before saying in a slow drawl, "What are you going to do with it?"

The question wasn't one he'd been expecting. A justification for having earned it, sure, but what he was going to do with his day... Daryl gulped and shrugged, his answer dismissive, "Just go for a ride."

"Just go for a ride?" Negan echoed, incredulous and in short order his feet were in Daryl's view and he was in Daryl's personal space and Daryl was looking up at him through the dark fringe of his hair. Negan stared at him, disbelieving, "You interrupted me to get a god damn day off and all you want to do with it is go for a fucking _ride_? Are you shitting me right now?"

He shook his head and dropped his eyes again.

"I think you are," Negan whispered, leaning in closer so his whisper was even more disturbing. "Now tell me, what the hell are you going to do with your day off?"

"Just-"

"It had better not be for a GOD DAMN RIDE, DARYL! You can go on a motherfucking ride for a few hours any fucking day you want. So what, the fuck, do you need a day off _for_?"

Being alone in the man's room with him had been a bad idea. He could barely think once Negan had gotten into his personal space. Every word Negan had yelled into his ear was a flashback to his daddy getting too loud when he was too drunk. He couldn't stop flinching, shrinking down into himself with each shouted punctuation.

"I wanna see someone," the words spilled out in a breathy rush.

He couldn't see the smile that spread across Negan's face, but he could feel it. Hear it. "See someone? You having a fling I don't know about? Shit, and here I thought I knew about everyone's affairs. Which outpost is she at?"

Daryl's eyes darted up and he stumbled back when he found Negan's nose not an inch from his face. Negan's smile grew. He enjoyed unnerving Daryl like that.

"You haven't answered my question, Daryl."

Daryl shook his head, "Ain't at an outpost."

"Well where else could she be?" Negan laughed, looking legitimately confused. "Unless you mean she's one of the scouts."'

Daryl gulped and shook his head again, regretting everything thought that had led him to being there at that moment. He should have just swallowed his loneliness in silence. He was so stupid.

 **...**

The gates of Hilltop swung open and Daryl saw Paul standing there, just to Gregory's left. Everyone in the colony had gathered in groups far enough away they could watch whatever was going on, but still be out of the way. Daryl led Negan and the small force he'd brought with them up to the steps of Barrington House.

He ignored Gregory's greeting and stepped in front of Paul. He met his lover's eyes ( _were they even lovers yet? would he want to be after this?_ ) and dropped his head. He could see Paul looking past him, to Negan, as Daryl murmured, "'m sorry."


	7. The Hard Road

_"Alright then, I think we have a plan," Rick said with a note of finality in his voice. He pressed his fingers to the table on either side of the makeshift map. "We'll head out tomorrow around mid-day, get what we need, then head on over. Get what sleep you can. It'll be a long day."_

 _Jesus went to leave, but Rick called after him, asked him to stay while the others shuffled out. He did so, expression curious, but concerned._

 _Rick had a frown creasing his face but his tone wasn't upset or anything when he asked, "If something goes wrong and they figure out we're there, he might not stick around his room. He's likely to join in. We won't know who he is if that happens. Can you still do this, knowin' that?"_

 _Jesus was quiet for a time before he nodded, "We'll just have to make sure it doesn't."_

 _"But if it does-"_

 _"I'll deal with it, Rick," Jesus interrupted, not looking back as he headed for the door. "What we're doing, stopping the Saviors..._ _It'_ s _important. I'm not going to back out. You don't have to worry."_

 **...**

Daryl hadn't been looking for a way to test their relationship, but he'd certainly found one. He'd never felt more awkward and out of place sitting next to Paul on the small couch in Gergory's office while Negan took Gregory aside out in the foyer. Paul wouldn't even look at him. He was sitting up, damn near ramrod straight with his arms crossed, watching the door. The one time Daryl had tried to say anything, Paul had cut him off with a terse 'not now'.

So they sat in silence and waited.

Daryl couldn't make out what Negan was saying. The sound of his overly jovial voice filtered in, but not loud enough to understand any words. Gregory was barely visible past the edge of the partially open door and it was mostly his reactions that gave Daryl any sense of what was going on. The man stood alternately wringing his hands and trying to let them rest on his hips, occasionally stealing a glance toward his office. Eventually Negan's arm came into view, slapping Gregory on the back before sending him off.

Daryl straightened up at that and he could hear Paul taking a deep breath as his arms dropped so his hands were in his lap. It was all they had time for before Negan stood in the door, smirking at them.

" _Jesus_ ," he said, blinking in near disbelief. His smile didn't falter of course.

"Yes?" Paul answered calmly, as if he wasn't mad at Daryl or upset in anyway, just a little concerned and unsure what this was all about.

Negan paused, then laughed, his grin splitting his face as he started toward them. Lucille was set on the floor, leaning up against Gregory's desk before Negan took a seat on the edge of it. He shook his head, still just looking at them.

Paul turned in his seat to look back at him while Daryl turned only his head. He felt like a child in that moment. Caught doing something wrong. And he sort of had. Negan didn't encourage fraternization with the locals, though he didn't frown on it. Anymore. Recruiting from within the communities they controlled definitely served to tie the groups to them with more loyalty, but it could also cause complications. He was careful about allowing it at this point, despite relaxing that rule a few months ago.

"So how did you two meet?" Negan finally asked. His eyes were more on Paul than on Daryl, but Daryl knew he was watching them both carefully. Negan didn't like being lied to and he was good at reading people. He was going to be looking for any inconsistencies between their reactions

Daryl wasn't really worried about anything Paul said to the man. He was worried about what his own body language might give away.

"I'm a scout for this community," Paul said evenly with a shrug. "I help gather the supplies we find and share with you. Daryl and I crossed the same road a few times."

The simpleness of answers without being a lie helped Daryl relax. Just a fraction.

"And the two of you are... what? Friends? Fuckbuddies?"

That fraction of relaxation was instantly gone from Daryl and he ducked his head, already feeling his cheeks go bright red at the assumption. He couldn't see Paul's face, just the back of his head, but he imagined it wasn't a happy expression. He imagined Paul's cool demeanor going completely cold with anger over the very suggestion. He wasn't expecting to hear Paul's light laugh and to see his head duck down as if he was embarrassed.

"We're uh..." he said slowly, sounding just a little surprised at how blunt Negan was. "That's not something I think is anyone's business but ours."

Negan leaned his head back and shook it, hissing in a breath through his teeth, "Now _that_ , would be where you're wrong. See. I need to know if this... relationship... whatever it is... between you two, is going to be a conflict of interest for Daryl. Because if it is, that's a problem for _me_."

Paul's back stiffened and he finally turned his head to look at Daryl. Daryl met his eyes briefly before looking away. He wanted to apologize again. But it would better if he just stayed quiet, so he didn't put his foot in his mouth again. That's what led to Negan being here in the first place.

A sigh escaped from Paul's lips before he looked back at Negan, what humor he'd had now gone. He spoke plainly and seriously, surprising Daryl with his words, "If that's all you're worried about, don't be. We are... seeing each other, in a sense, I guess," another sigh and Paul's hand moved to rest on Daryl's knee, rubbing it as if to draw strength from the touch, "but Daryl's always put your needs before everything. As much as I'd like to, we don't even get to meet up all that often. The last time he was here was close to a month ago and before that, we saw each other maybe once every couple weeks. If we were lucky enough to be in the same area at the same time. I'm not sure how much that counts as being together, but it's all we've had so..."

Daryl kept his head down, but he uncrossed his arms and let one of his hands come to rest over Paul's. For all he knew, this was the last time he'd get to see him. He didn't actually know Negan's thoughts on men being together, if it would be tolerated. With how much Negan regulated relationships between the men and women of Sanctuary, he figured all the running around Merle used to do had been done largely under the radar. Or maybe Negan didn't really care because there weren't no chance of pregnancies and the complications thereof between two dicks rubbing together. Or two vaginas. Some of the women probably found warmth in each other's arms if there were men were doing it.

Paul flipped his hand over and threaded their fingers together, giving Daryl's had a squeeze. Then he leaned his shoulder into Daryl's and Daryl could feel his face getting so hot he was probably bright red. Holding hands like that was something Paul usually saved for when they were alone. When they were walking together. He'd never put much thought to it being more than a friendly thing. But with Negan watching, judging, deciding their fate, it suddenly felt so much more intimate. Like Paul was kissing him with his finger tips. Holding him naked under the night sky with the pressure of his palm. A final goodbye.

 **...**

Daryl was so tense and there was little Paul could do about it. He hovered at Paul's shoulder. His hands coming up as if to touch the shallow cut Negan had made on his neck but pulling back whenever Jesus shifted even a little. He didn't say anything, lips pressed so tightly together it was like he thought making a sound would cause Paul to faint.

Negan and his men were leaving and Paul needed to reassure everyone that things were fine. No one was in trouble, no one was dead. No one was going to die. Negan just wanted to toss his dick around and act the big shot. Not quite the whole truth, but the rest could stay between him and Daryl. It was their burden to carry.

Only getting to do that, to tell everyone, would have to wait a little longer. Because Daryl was hovering. Worried and apologetic and it was obvious to Paul that his... boyfriend? Hell, he didn't even know what they were to each other yet. But it was obvious that Daryl needed to see that he was okay. That the wound was nothing and that wouldn't happen until it was cleaned up.

He waited until the gates were firmly shut behind Negan's men and the bar going down before he took Daryl by the hand and led him off to his trailer. Daryl froze at the contact, clearly surprised and uncertain. But he allowed himself to be led off when Paul murmured a soft, if distracted, "Help me get cleaned up."

Once inside, Paul started by pulling his shirt off. A rueful and dry laugh escaped him as he realized it was the first time he'd been shirtless in front of Daryl. The most they'd ever done was hug each other.

The shirt became a makeshift towel. It was already bloody, so more wouldn't hurt it. He pushed open the door to the small bathroom and took a good look at the wound Negan had made. It was a crude 'X' carved into the hollow of his neck where it met the shoulder. A spot many a lover would kiss their beloved in movies and books and where a few boyfriends back before had, in fact, sucked a good dozen hickeys into his skin. Clearly it had been picked to remind Daryl what Negan could and would do every time he was intimate with Paul.

If they ever got to the point of being physically intimate beyond the one night of kissing they'd shared.

"Get one of the bowls for me, please," he asked with a sigh and swiped at his neck one last time with the shirt before he pulled his hair up and into a loose bun to keep it clear of the blood. The small first aid kit he had tucked away in the small cabinet under the sink got taken out and set on the narrow edge above. When Daryl returned with the bowl, he took it and filled it, then handed it back over with a quiet, "Hold this for me, okay?"

It was taken back and held firmly without protest or insistence that Daryl be the one to do the cleaning and bandaging, so Jesus set about doing it himself. It was pretty obvious Daryl was still freaked out about what happened. Paul glanced over at him in the mirror, at his face turned down and eyes focused somewhere on his own hands. It looked like he needed some time to sort things.

Paul kept his tone soft and gentle as he asked for help. Gave specific requests so they'd be easier to follow while Daryl was still in his daze. He could only guess what was going through his mind but he figured it had to be something akin to when he'd lost his brother. The worry and the guilt was written across every inch of his face and the way he held himself. To the point he wasn't even volunteering to do anything. Just standing there, off in his own world and only acting when Paul spoke.

If he thought he could, he'd stay and talk Daryl through it before heading out and making sure Gregory wasn't making people nervous with half-formed thoughts and tersely given orders. But he needed to make sure everyone was okay and no one was panicking over what had happened and he'd already given Daryl the benefit of making sure the wound was covered. And maybe having some time to himself to breath without hovering would help him, too. A half hour or so where he could sit and process and get through whatever this strange quietness of his was.

When the wound was patched up, Paul took Daryl by the arm and led him to the couch, "Sit down. Get a little rest. I'll be back soon. Just need to make sure there aren't any fires to put out. And put them out if there are." He gave Daryl's arm a light squeeze, making sure to meet his eyes, "Wait for me, okay?"

He got no response, just those dazed eyes staring back at him, but he had to take it. With another squeeze just to be sure, he turned and headed out the door. Two steps out and he was met with the half-panicked concern of a dozen people calling out his name and heading away from the small gathering that had formed outside the steps of Barrington.

 **...**

There was barely enough water to wipe the side of Paul's neck clean and keep it clear before the bandage was applied. Barely enough to dilute the blood and turn the mixture pink before it got emptied into the sink after all was said and done. Daryl knew this because he held the steel bowl the whole time, staring down at it and not daring to look up at Paul's face. Not daring to look beyond his own knuckles, white from the tightness of his grip.

Paul said nothing in the hour after Negan and the Saviors left except to give quiet orders. Hold the bowl. Grab that towel. Get some more water. Sit down and wait.

Daryl did as he was told.

It was the very, very, _very_ , least he could do after what he'd allowed to happen. The image of Negan grabbing Paul by the hair and yanking his head back while they were still holding hands replayed through his head as Paul left the trailer. Their eyes meeting and Negan pressing Lucille into Daryl's chest to keep him from standing. To keep him right where he was. Next to the man he had feelings for. Next to him, holding his hand. While Negan moved Lucille so she rested in the juncture where neck met shoulder. Her barbed wire hadn't been cleaned. It was usually cleaned at night but they'd taken out a few of the dead on the way over. Negan had gone out of his way to do so. He generally liked to make sure anyone he hit would die a painful death regardless of where the blow landed. Even a scratch would be a death sentence.

So Daryl sat where he was, his hand holding Paul's so tightly he would have drawn blood with his nails if hadn't chewed them so short on a regular basis. It was only when Negan was satisfied that Daryl wasn't going to interfere that he set Lucille on the coffee table and pulled one of his knives. And then he carved a nice long line into Paul's neck. Followed by a second one. Like he was putting the giant X that marked some important spot. He was careful not to dig too deep or nick a vein. Obvious after the fact, but a the time had Daryl frozen in place for fear of jostling either of them and inadvertently causing Paul's death.

When he was done and satisfied - with Paul not moving and Daryl staying right where he was like a good little soldier - Negan had flashed that smile of his and nodded. Said he'd tell the boys to keep an eye out for Jesus' pretty face if they were out and about. To 'watch out for him' and 'keep him safe' since he 'belonged to the Saviors'. Then he'd given Daryl permission to stick around for the rest of the day and walked out of Barrington House like he hadn't just scarred a man for life.

Daryl sat on the couch in Paul's trailer, reliving that sight over and over. Waiting.

He figured once Paul returned, he'd tell him to leave and never show his face around Hilltop again. He wouldn't argue when the order came. He'd already done enough to ruin the other man's life just by not being able to keep his mouth shut when Negan had gotten so in his face. When he'd been too much of a pussy to stand up to the man and lie his ass off the way Merle would have. It would have been better to get his ass beaten than to have allowed this.

It was going on three hours before Paul got back. He stood just inside the door after shutting it for a few moments before he leaned back and took a deep breath. He brought one hand up to rest over the bandage, then press into it with a wince. His head rolled sideways to look at Daryl. There was pain in his gaze. Pain and pity.

Paul broke eye contact first as he pushed away from the door and shuffled around the table to come join Daryl on the couch. His head stayed down, hair falling to hide his expression in the same way Daryl's hair could. Something Paul didn't do very often. He sighed and leaned into Daryl's shoulder. Which didn't make any sense if Daryl was going to be kicked out. But Daryl wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He was going to take what he could get before he was told to beat it.

"Sorry that took so long. Everyone wanted to talk and then Gregory decided to pull me into a meeting that was just an excuse to complain at me for close to an hour," Paul muttered eventually, voice tired, his free hand reaching across his lap to find purchase on Daryl's knee as he asked, "You doing okay?"

Daryl turned, trying to peek through the curtain of hair, confused by the question, "He didn't hurt me."

Paul's head came up, eyebrows raised, "He did something to you. Otherwise he wouldn't have been here."

"He didn't," Daryl's eyes dropped in shame and he shook his head, lips pressing together. He felt like he was on the verge of tears and wouldn't that just be the icing on the cake? Crying his eyes out when Paul should be the one getting emotional.

"He did," Paul insisted, his hand moved from Daryl's knee to his cheek, gently pulling his face to force him to look at him. "I know you Daryl. He did something. It might not have been as physical as what he did to me a few hours ago, but it was still _something_."

Daryl shook his head again, pulling away from Paul and crossing his arms. The tears were pushing at his eyes like the goddamn Hoover Dam. "All's he did was get in my face. Yell at me. Nothin' else. I just folded like a coward."

Paul didn't immediately counter that and Daryl figured he was reassessing his opinion of him. That he wasn't worth half of the effort he'd put into getting to know him. He was on the verge of standing up and going, to save Paul the trouble, when Paul's arms settled around him and his forehead came to rest against his shoulder.

"He scared you," he murmured and then raised his voice slightly for emphasis before Daryl could protest, "He murdered your brother in front of you. You have every reason to be scared of what he might do to you."

Daryl shook his head and pulled out of the embrace. He stood up and started pacing, the tears falling in anger at himself. "I still shouldn't have told him about you. That was stupid of me. I got you hurt."

"Daryl..."

"You're gonna have those scars for the rest of your life cause of me!"

"Daryl."

"Why ain't you yelling at me? Telling me to go? Why are you-"

"DARYL!"

He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut, hands balling into fists at his side, waiting for the blow to come. He'd let it happen. It and any that followed.

Paul's hand came down on his arm, gentle, hesitant. The other hand touched his other arm. Both rested there for a moment before they started rubbing up and down, soothing him. He could hear Paul's controlled breathing and feel the heat of the other man so close to his chest.

And when he opened his eyes, Paul smiled up at him with a sad, self-depreciating smile, and said, "It's okay that you didn't fight him today. I didn't fight him, either, remember?"

That smile got a little bigger at Daryl's obvious confusion and he let out a small chuckle before ducking his head, "I could have broken his arm, smashed his nose in, crushed his throat, gutted him with his own knife while he was focused on keeping you in check, or half a dozen other things that could have killed him or seriously disabled him."

He paused to look back up at Daryl at met his eyes, the smile gone, replaced by a sober expression, "I chose not to. Because fighting him right then and there, would have put more than just you or me in danger. You can handle yourself. I can handle myself. The people of Hilltop can't. This cut? It's nothing. It'll heal and in a couple weeks it'll barely be visible at all. If I'm careful, it won't even scar the way he wants it to. I'm not going to say I'm happy you told him about us, and that he came here and put everyone in danger. But I'm not mad at _you_ , either. Negan is the problem here."

Daryl dropped his head and tucked it against Paul's shoulder and didn't argue further. He didn't have the energy, nor did he have the will, to insist Paul hate him. He could accept not being happy and take it as a blessing that Paul wasn't kicking him to the curb.

 **...**

Jesus held him for a long time. His own head resting against Daryl's shoulder. He shut his eyes and let himself just enjoy the feel of Daryl's arms slowly coming up to wrap around his waist. Loose at first, then more firmly as the man either got braver or more desperate. He couldn't really tell from how they were both standing. It didn't matter, or wouldn't, in the long run. He wasn't planning on going anywhere.

He wasn't planning on pushing Daryl away, ever. Whatever he' been through in his life back before, it had made it difficult for him to open up and get close to people. Jesus wasn't going to ruin the progress he'd made on that front. It had all been very hard earned. Almost a year of flirty jokes, meaningful glances, and the occasional brush of fingers along arms and hands just to make it to the point he could hold the man in his arms. Comfortably, even. And be held back.

"I _am_ sorry I took so long," he murmured after a time, the silence getting to him as his thoughts started to race again. Mostly to comparisons between Daryl and Alex as far as reactions to the days events had gone. "But I'll still understand if you're upset at me for that. I mean, I tried to make things short, but everyone wanted to talk to me and make sure I was okay."

And that Daryl wasn't staying behind as some sort of local spy or watchman or jailer or something. However, that would be better left unsaid.

Daryl shifted in his arms and grunted out, "Ain't mad at you."

The response was unexpected. Paul certainly felt relief that the man wasn't upset at him over it, of course. But it wasn't what he was used to. A nice change of pace in that department. Anytime something went wrong or he took longer than expected, Alex would go off on him. Not always verbally or loudly, but there'd be those little signs of his displeasure and disappointment. Passive aggressive clattering of flatware landing too hard in the plastic bin after dinner. The obvious way he'd sit and start reading to himself, feet stretched out along the couch so there was no room for Paul to sit unless he asked Alex to move his feet. The loud, put out sigh when he did move them, like he was always doing so much for Paul and Paul gave so little back. Things that he wasn't always sure was just him making a bigger deal of them in his head hours later, after Alex was curled up against his side, smiling and laughing and teasing him. Apologizing for his worrying.

And it definitely didn't sound like Daryl was just trying to keep his anger hidden. Daryl could be passive aggressive, he'd seen it a few times, but it was never in a way that made Paul question himself about reading too much into something after the fact. When Daryl was mad, it was obvious. He didn't know how to keep it contained. It wasn't one of the emotions he'd learned to conceal.

"You sure?" he still asked, that worry born out of past relationships needling a little at his mind even knowing Daryl wasn't lying.

"Yeah," Daryl answered. He lifted his head and met Paul's eyes for a second, then shut them and leaned forward so their foreheads were touching. "Just glad you're okay."

"I am," he murmured, letting them stand that way for a few more moments before he shifted a fraction of an inch and let their lips touch. Feather light at first, then more firmly. Daryl responded a lot faster this time than he had the first. Pressing back into Paul's mouth with his own and sliding his tongue out tentatively. Jesus parted his lips and let it slide in. Then out. The next time it came in, he brought his lips down and sucked on that tongue for a split second, encouraging Daryl to push it deeper before it met his own.

The whole thing was a bit awkward, but all thoughts of comparisons to Alex left his mind as he focused on trying to teach Daryl how to French him good and proper. Daryl, for his part, was an eager learner.

 **...**

Daryl left as dusk was starting to settle. He wouldn't get to Sanctuary before nightfall, but he wasn't worried about that. Just so long as he was back before morning, he was fine. He and Paul had spent the majority of the afternoon on the couch. Kissing. And touching. What his brother would have called 'heavy petting'.

The kind of making out that had hands running down backsides and grabbing at thighs and dragging nails along as they pulled back up. The kind of making out that had Paul's hands, in specific, gripping his ass and kneading the skin through his jeans. Fingers digging into his crack and making his body feel all kinds of things he hadn't felt in a long damn time. The kind of heavy petting that had Daryl's hands holding the back of Paul's head while he sucked at the side of his neck, trying to make up for the bruising on the other side with every hard kiss and lick and the wet vacuum of his mouth while Paul made the most amazing little noises.

It didn't go any further than that, though, because the moment Daryl had settled himself between Paul's legs and rolled his hips forward his brain had short circuited on the realization he was trying to dry hump the other man. Not because it was a bad feeling or anything like that, but because he still had a bandage on his neck that Daryl was ultimately the cause of. No matter how much Paul insisted otherwise, that Negan was at fault, Daryl still saw it as his.

He couldn't honestly say that all arousal was drained from him, but the bandage was still fresh and the wound would need at least a week to really start to heal. And Daryl just couldn't bring himself to keep going with that in mind. Kissing, touching... that was different. It was still a lot, sure, but it wasn't... it wasn't _sex_.

Paul, for his part, seemed to realize they'd gone a little too fast. He was obviously disappointing, but he his well and pulled his hands back up to a safer spot. Went back to the kissing and only the kissing. Murmured soft reassurances that it was okay. That he was okay with easing up. So they had and it was nice. It was safe.

When Daryl left, he felt a lot better and Paul was in a good mood, too. Things weren't perfect, but they were okay.

When Daryl got to Sanctuary and to his room, Simon met him at the door. He grinned and gave Daryl a pat on the shoulder, "Congrats are in order, I do believe. Negan said to tell you that you get one half-day off a week to go see that sweetheart of yours. Noon to midnight. Pick a day and put it on the schedule. If this goes well, you don't mess it up, we might be able to make this a thing for everyone."

He winked as he walked off, "No pressure."


End file.
